


Bet On It

by sunsetandvineyards



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, And I mean realllllyyy slow build, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Awkward Flirting, Cute Timmy, Eventual Romance, Football, Jealousy, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Strangers to Lovers, armie is kind of a douchebag, bet, dont hate me, fuckboy armie, innocent timmy, timmy is an angel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-01-08 03:33:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 53,794
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21229094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunsetandvineyards/pseuds/sunsetandvineyards
Summary: The one where Armie is a College football player with a massive ego. He makes a bet that he can sleep with the Dean's son.~~~“My friend's brother used to date him for a few months last year,” Greg adds and Armie turns to face him. “Told me the kid wouldn’t even put out.” He’s grinning widely now, clearly thinking he’s picked a prime candidate. “So what do you say, Hammer? $200 bucks if you get him in bed by the end of the school year.” Armie rolls his eyes and crosses his arms.“By the end of the school year?” Armie questions, voice dripping with arrogance. “You really under estimate me. I could have him begging for it by the end of this season.” He reaches out to shake Greg’s hand, smirking. He shrugs, “But sure, you’re on."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! Just thought I would get this quick intro chapter out there. The idea has been on my mind for a while. Going to be a long road of angsty boys...I promise you won't hate Armie forever. 
> 
> Let me know your thoughts!

“You were totally off your game last night, man,” Nick laughs, hand playfully slapping the back of Armie’s shoulder as they make their way across campus. “What, losing your Hammer touch?”  
  
It’s _too_ fucking early. Early enough that Armie’s ray-bans are pretty much useless against the morning sun that assaults his burning eyes, that has his head pounding even more than when he dragged himself out of bed 30 minutes ago. He had groaned in dread when his alarm had gone off that morning, body feeling like it had been hit by a truck. Probably not the best idea to be hungover (and possibly still a little drunk) for the first practice of the season. Coach is going to be pissed.  
  
“Fuck off," he replies. “I haven’t lost anything.” Armie glares when Greg barks out a laugh.  
  
“_Dude,_ what are you talking about? You totally got shut down by that girl last night,” Greg says, earning a laugh from the other three. “Never thought I would see the day where _Armie Hammer_ couldn’t get someone to go home with him.” Greg is smirking, clearly remembering the night’s events.  
  
Armie hadn’t planned on drinking too much at the frat party. But then the guys had roped him into a round of beer pong, which had turned into 2 or 3 more rounds of beer pong and a few keg stands…and before he knew it, he was fucking wasted. Armie vaguely remembers a sloppy make out session in the kitchen with some girl with red hair and pushed up boobs. Vaguely remembers trying to cop a feel under her shirt and grinding against her. He inwardly cringes when he remembers the girl detaching herself from him eventually, muttering something about needing to head home, while Armie had tried and tried to convince her to stay or leave with him, words too slurred and eyes barely focusing on her face.  
  
“Fuck you guys,” he says, defensive. “I wasn’t even trying to take her home. I knew we had to be up early,” he lies, adjusting the strap of his gym bag on his shoulder as they reach the quad. 

Nick throws his own bag onto one of the benches next to them as they wait for the rest of the team to show up. It was team tradition to grab breakfast at the Diner on campus before the first practice of every season. Of course, half of them were late today, probably nursing wicked hangovers of their own. Armie hopes that some pancakes and bacon will help settle the churning in his stomach, soak up some of the evidence of last night’s binge drinking before he’s running suicides.  
  
Nick laughs, “Yeah, okay. Sure.” Armie rolls his eyes.  
  
“No need to get so worked up, Hammer,” Kevin chimes in, chuckling. “You were bound to get rejected one of these days.” Armie glares at him.  
  
“I didn’t get fucking rejected, you ass hats,” He grits out. “I don’t _get_ rejected.”

It was true. Armie had a reputation, to say the least. He could get anyone, any girl or guy, that he wanted. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t aware of what his looks did to people. Knew that his tall frame and piercing blue eyes clearly worked in his favour. Ever since freshman year, Armie had been taking home anyone he set his eyes on. Usually, he barely had to try, had girls and guys throwing themselves at him. Being on the football team probably helped, too. Everyone knew Armie Hammer, knew that he was one of the best freshman players recruited for the team. Now, as a junior, he was in line for captain next year.  
  
“I can get anyone I want,” Armie says. “And you all know it.” Some of the others are showing up now. They are only waiting on a few more.  
  
“Then prove it,” Greg says, smirking. “Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is.” His eyes are darting around the quad, scanning, searching, amused smile across his lips. After a few seconds, his eyes freeze, fixated on something over Armie’s shoulder. He smirks, points toward the entrance of the library.  
  
“Him,” he says. “Prove it with him.” 

Armie's rolling his eyes as he turns to glance where Greg is pointing. As he spots a frail, curly haired kid (probably a freshman, Armie thinks), in a hoodie that’s way too big for him and holding way too many books. He's chatting away happily to some blonde girl while leaning against the pillar of he library's entrance, legs crossed at this ankles. He looks familiar, like Armie has seen him around before. But he can’t quite place him until Nick speaks up.  
  
“Dude,” He hears Nick say from behind him. “That’s the fucking _Dean’s_ kid.” 

The others are laughing now, too and realization dawns on Armie. He remembers seeing the kid at their football fundraisers last year. Is pretty sure that he's been at few of their sports award ceremony dinners alongside his father. He thinks he remembers seeing him in one of his classes this week, too, but he can't be too sure.  
  
“His name is Tim or Tom...something like that,” Kevin adds, grasping at Armie’s shoulder, squeezing as if in reassurance. “And good luck trying to fuck him. He’s basically the fucking poster child here, man.”

Armie watches as the kid pushes himself up from the wall and starts walking away, wind tousling his hair. He's pretty. The kind of pretty that Armie would usually go for. The kind of pretty who usually wanted someone big and strong to rough him up a little.   
  
“My friend's brother used to date him for a few months last year,” Greg adds and Armie turns to face him. “Told me the kid wouldn’t even put out.” He’s grinning widely now, clearly thinking he’s picked a prime candidate. “So what do you say, Hammer,” Greg asks. “$200 bucks if you get him in bed by the end of the school year,” Armie rolls his eyes, crosses his arm.  
  
“By the end of the _school year?”_ He questions, voice dripping with arrogance. “You really under estimate me. I could have him begging for it by the end of this season.” He reaches out to shake Greg’s hand, smirking. He shrugs, “But sure, you’re on. Better head to the bank soon to withdraw that cash. I don’t accept transfers.”  
  
~~~~~~  
  
The week goes by and Armie almost forgets about the bet. Too busy and wrapped up in football training and parties to pay it much mind. That is, until he walks into his econ class on Tuesday afternoon and sees him.  
  
The curly haired boy is sitting in the second row of the lecture hall, thumb nail trapped between his teeth and eyebrows knitted together, leaning over his textbook. He is furiously scribbling into his notebook even though class doesn’t start for another 5 minutes. There is an empty spot beside him and Armie smirks, makes his way over. The boy doesn’t even look up when Armie slides into the seat next to him, not even when Armie drops his bag loudly onto the ground.  
  
“Hey,” Armie says to get his attention. “You’re Tim, right?” The boy looks up then, eyes startled, releasing his nail from his teeth.   
  
“Um yeah. Hi,” He replies, eyes meeting Armie’s. He offers a shy grin. “It’s Timmy, actually.” Armie smiles and nods.  
  
“Armie,” he says, leaning over to pull his books out of his bag. “I’ve seen you around.” Timmy doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, as if he's waiting for Armie to continue, clearly confused.  
  
“Oh,” Timmy finally responds when Armie doesn't say anything more, fingers tapping restlessly against his leg. “You’re on the football team, aren’t you?” He seems nervous, his face failing to hide it and that makes Armie smile. This is going to be _way too_ easy.  
  
“Yeah I am,” Armie tells him, leaning back in his chair so that the front two legs raise from the floor. “I’ve seen you at some of our events with your dad.” Timmy nods, fiddling with the pencil laying on his desk before bringing it to his mouth, biting at the eraser.  
  
“That’s me, yeah,” the boy says, laughs a little and his eyes crinkle. Armie places his hands behind his head, crosses one leg so that his ankle is resting over his knee and smirks.  
  
“I’m glad,” He tells him, “I wasn’t sure if I had you mistaken with another cute curly haired kid.” He winks then and Timmy’s cheeks redden as he averts his gaze. Armie can see that he’s trying to hide the smile on his lips. "So aren't you a freshman?" He continues. "What are you doing here in a Junior Economics class?"   
  
"I'm actually a Sophomore," Timmy replies, looking back at him while his hands move to tuck a few stray curls behind his ears. Armie watches as he does so, how most of the curls slip right back out from behind his ear to frame his angular face. "But I took Sophomore econ in the summer online. I wanted to get ahead."

_Of course_ he did. Armie has to stop himself from outwardly rolling his eyes. Because Timmy looks _exactly_ like the kind of kid that would take summer classes. Looks like the type of kid who probably gets all of his reading done 2 weeks early. Jesus christ. But Armie just smiles at him instead, drops his body froward so that the front legs of the chair are back on the ground. He rests his elbows on the desk in front of him, head turned towards the younger boy.   
  
"Impressive," He remarks with a smirk. "Cute _and_ smart." That makes Timmy's cheeks flush red again. Causes the younger boy to just smile and bite at his bottom lip. He shrugs.  
  
Yup, Armie thinks. This is going to be _way_ _too fucking easy._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of your kind words! Glad you like it so far. 
> 
> and so it begins :)

The next time that Armie sees him is when he is in line at Starbucks. It’s a friday evening and Armie desperately needs his caffeine fix before his last class of the week. Almost instantly when he walks in, making his way to the front counter, Armie spots Timmy sitting in a booth near the back. He has his laptop open in front of him and he's sipping at an iced coffee. He’s giggling around the straw, face resting in his open hand, and clearly immersed in conversation with the same blonde girl Armie had seem him with last week in front of the library.  
  
Armie had tried to get the kid’s number during Econ on Tuesday. But Timmy had been so consumed with the lecture, barely looking away from the prof’s screen or his own notes for Armie to get a chance to grab his attention. Maybe he was doing it on purpose? Armie wasn’t sure. Then when class was nearly over, Timmy had pulled his big headphones over his ears, had stuffed his belongings into his backpack quickly, and stood up before the lecture had even ended. He had simply offered Armie a small little wave with two fingers over his shoulder, lips pulled in a small smile, before he had turned and quietly slipped out of the row carefully to not disrupt the rest of the class.  
  
“Oh shit,” Nicks says from his spot in line beside him, clearly spotting Timmy as well. “Isn’t that him?” Armie nods, fishing into his pocket to pull out his wallet.  
  
“Yeah,” Armie says as he hands over a few bills to the cashier for both of their drinks. “The one in the back.” 

When he gets his change, the two of them slowly make their way over to the other side of the room to wait for their orders. As he approaches, Timmy looks up mid laugh and Armie catches his eye. Leaning back against the counter and folding his arms over his chest, Armie nods, smirking at the younger boy. He’s happy when he sees Timmy bite shyly at his bottom lip in response, offering him a little wave, before turning back to his friend.  
  
“He’s pretty cute, actually,” Nick notes, clicking his tongue. “So, have you made any progress?”  
  
“Nah, not really,” Armie replies, shrugging, pushing himself up off the counter when he notices the barista place their drinks down beside him. “But I’m working on it. He seems pretty shy.” 

Almost on cue, he notices Timmy peeking back over at him again, eyes slightly hidden beneath his curls, clearly trying to be discrete. The blonde is looking too, however very much _less_ discrete, with her brows furrowed and mouth openly turned down in a scowl. When he sees that Armie has caught him, Timmy looks away quickly, cheeks dusting pink, and tugs at his friends arm across from him urgently to get her to do the same. Armie smirks, chuckles while ripping open a packet of sugar and dumping it into his coffee.  
  
“I’m obviously not worried though,” Armie says. “So where’s the party at tonight?” He asks, changing the subject once they have finished topping off their drinks.   
  
“I dunno. I think over on like Collins street or some shit,” Nick replies. “Oh. Or there’s the one at that sorority, too.” Armie nods in response. The sororities were pretty fun. The girls there were always more than eager to show him their bedrooms.  
  
"The others coming out?" Armie asks as they start walking, deciding to head towards the exit at the back of the shop, the one right near Timmy’s booth.  
  
"Yeah, I think so," Nick says. "Pretty sure we're pre drinking at Kevin's." 

Armie checks his phone, he has about 10 minutes before his next class on the other side of campus. Tucking his phone back into his pocket, he slows to a stop in front of Timmy's booth.  
  
“Hey,” Armie says, shooting the boy a wide smile. Timmy looks up at him, hand nervously playing with the curls as the back of his neck. “Save me a seat next week, yeah?” Timmy nods quickly, opens his mouth to say something but before he gets the chance, Armie walks off.  
  
  
~~~~  
  
“Um, what the _actual fuck?_” Saoirse mutters once Armie has sauntered off, looking at Timmy as if he’s suddenly sprouted 3 extra heads. “How the hell do you know _him_?” Timmy just shrugs, eyes fixed on his fingers playing with the straw of his iced coffee, trying to remain casual.  
  
“I don’t really _know_ him, Sersh,” he responds. “I just met him in my econ class a few days ago. It’s no big deal.” Saoirse scoffs, pulling the coffee away from him so that Timmy has to look up at her.  
  
“No big deal?” She questions, face contorted judgementally. “Then why the hell is he asking you to _save him a seat?_” Timmy’s face burns and he glares at her. “And why did you say _yes_?”   
  
“I don’t know!” He exclaims, exasperated, swiping his coffee back and taking a long sip. He shakes out his curls and pushes them back from his face, frowning. “Why are you making such a big deal about this? I wasn’t going to just be like _no, screw off, get your own seat._ That would be fucking weird.” Saoirse rolls her eyes.  
  
“Why am I making a big deal?" The blonde replies, eyebrows raised and arms crossed. "Um, I don’t know,” her voice is laced with sarcasm. She lifts one finger into the air as if she’s suddenly had a miraculous thought. “Oh wait! Maybe because it’s Armie Hammer from the _football_ team. The biggest player on campus.” They way she says the word _football_ makes it sound like she might as well be saying _cat vomit_ with the level of disgust found in her voice. “Oh, and he’s a complete asshole too." Now it’s Timmy’s turn to roll his eyes.  
  
“Okay, so what?” He raises his hands in defence. “It’s not like I’m _into him_ or anything. I just met the guy, like, what? 3 days ago?” He lifts his drink to take another sip. “Like i said, I don’t even know him.” But Saoirse is still glaring at him, evidently unimpressed with his explanation. It makes Timmy laughs, face breaking out into a wide smile, hand coming up to cover his mouth. “You are acting like a crazy person, Sersh,” he says affectionately, reaching out to grab her hand. Her eyes soften when he does so, shoulders immediately relaxing, and she sighs.  
  
“I just don’t want you to get involved with someone like him,” She says gently, her accusatory tone now having disappeared. “You know, after Jacob and everything…I just,” She sighs again. “You’re _too_ _nice_, Timmy. And people take advantage of that.” Timmy squeezes at his friend's hand in response, offers her a soft smile.  
  
“Don’t worry,” Timmy tells her, bringing his right hand up to cover his heart, playful smile on his lips. “I, Timothee Chalemet, solemnly swear not to get involved with any asshole football players…again." Saoirse is laughing now, leaning forward to push at his shoulder.  
  
“You’re such an idiot,” she says, shaking her head, eyes gleaming with delight. “But okay fine. I accept your promise.” Timmy smiles at her, his eyes crinkled in amusement.  
  
"Good," He says simply, closing the screen of his laptop and beginning to wrap up the charger. "Now, let's get out of here because it's getting late. And I still need to get myself pretty and drunk before we head out tonight."   
  
~~~~  
  
When Armie and the rest of the guys turn up at the party that night, it's already nearing 1am. They had first headed downtown to one of bars they typically frequent. But when Greg had gotten kicked out by one of the bouncers, after drunkenly jumping behind the bar to serve himself and his friends free drinks, Armie had suggested they all head to the sorority party instead.   
  
"Who you going for tonight?" One of his buddies, Serge, asks him as they make their way into the living room. Armie scans the room, casually bringing the cup he's holding to his lips, taking a long swig.   
  
"Not too sure," He replies, grinning. "Not sure who I'm in the mood for." Serge laughs, clinking Armie's cup with his own before disappearing into the kitchen, probably to find the keg.   
  
It's only about 20 more minutes into the party, and 2 more beers deep, before Armie finds himself pressed up against the wall with his mouth on some girl's neck. This time, it's a cute little brunette with a short skirt and knee high boots. She's a friend of the sorority. At least, that's what Armie thinks he remembers her saying. Which means she most likely doesn't have a room here and they'll have to head back to his apartment soon instead. She has one hand in Armie's hair and one on his chest as he sucks at her skin, breathing heavily against him. Armie moves his hand to cup her ass under her skirt, squeezes, and smirks when the girl lifts her leg to wrap around his waist.   
  
"You want to get out of here?" He murmurs against her neck and he feels her nod.   
  
"Yeah, just," she pulls back, out of breath, unlatching herself from him. Armie tries to get his mouth back on her neck which makes her giggle, but she holds him back. "Let me just tell my friends that I'm leaving." Armie nods and reaches down to adjust himself. "Wait here," She says sweetly, leaning up to kiss him before heading back into the crowd of the party.  
  
Armie leans his head back against the wall and reaches for his beer sitting on the table next to him. He takes a long swig and closes his eyes, already beginning to think about how to not-so-politely send the girl home afterward with a cab. Just as he's about to take another swig, suddenly, someone is colliding with him, knocking his arm up and causing beer to spill all over his shirt.   
  
"Jesus christ," he mutters in annoyance, eyes opening, reaching out a hand to steady the person in front of him.   
  
"Shit, sorry. So sorry," the girl replies, laughing, leaning over to pick up her red solo cup from the floor. The red wine it previously contained is soaking into the carpet beneath them. "Sorry, I didn't mean to run into you," She looks up at him and Armie immediately recognizes her as the same girl that's always with Timmy. He smiles then. _Bingo_  
  
"No worries," He replies, offering her one of his best smiles."You alright?" She just nods, smile suddenly disappearing from her face and simply turns to leave. "Hey! Hey,"Armie says, grabbing at her elbow before she can get too far. She looks back at him, irritation clearly written on her face. He ignores it. "Aren't you Timmy's friend? I'm pretty sure I saw you today with him, right?" The girl rolls her eyes.   
  
"Maybe," she replies coldly, arms crossing with hostility. "And what's it to you?" Armie raises his eyes brows, amused. He laughs.  
  
"Hey. May I remind you that _you_ were the one who ran into _me?_ Not the other way around, sweetheart." When the girl doesn't reply he continues. "And I was just wondering. Is he here?" His eyes are scanning the room already behind her.  
  
"No," She replies, face tight. "I Gotta go, bye." Armie watches her leave. _Bitch_. His eyes are still scanning around the rest of the party, looking for a head of tousled curls. He smirks to himself, pleased with the night's sudden turn of events. He could have this bet in the bag by the end of _tonight. _  
  
"Sersh!" He then hears someone exclaim from across the room. "Where's my _wine._ You said you were gonna go get me more _wine._" 

Armie sees him then. Timmy is sitting on the couch near the kitchen, pouting up at his friend who's offering him the empty cup. He looks drunk, cheeks rosy and lips stained red (most likely from what he had been previously drinking). He's wearing a large sweater that hangs low, showing off his collar bones, and his curls are messier than usual. _Fuck,_ Armie thinks. The kid looks fucking pretty tonight. He smirks. Maybe this will be more fun than he originally thought.   
  
Pushing himself up and off of the wall, Armie saunters over. He can hear Timmy giggling as he approaches, sees the small boy leaning in close to whisper something into another girl's ear. Then he's laughing even harder, leaning forward with his hands on his knees.   
  
"Twice in one day," Armie says once he's close enough, hand pushing back his hair. "Lucky me." 

Timmy looks up at him from under his lashes, eyes glassy. When he realizes who is speaking to him, Timmy starts giggling even more. He covers his face with his hands, rubs at his eyes before looking back up at Armie.  
  
"Nope," Timmy says, shaking his head, curls messily bouncing back and forth. He's still giggling as he points an accusatory finger in Armie’s direction, narrowing his eyes. "Nope, no football players allowed." He's sticking his chin up in mock defiance, then reaching over to steal the blonde's drink from her hand. He is smiling happily again as he takes a sip, pointing at the blonde girl. "Saoirse says so."   
  
"Oh my god, _Timmy_," The blonde rolls her eyes, reaching over to steal the drink back from him. "I think you've had enough." Timmy just grins at her innocently, rests his head in one of his palms.   
  
"You love me," he answers, laughing. Armie watches in amusement, takes a sip of his beer.  
  
"No football players, huh?" Armie asks then, arms crossing over his chest. He smirks down at the boy, eyebrows raised. "And what exactly does that mean?" Before Timmy can respond though, the blonde girl is grabbing his arm and pulling the younger boy up from the couch.  
  
"Come on," she says to him. "Let's go find Sabrina. I think she's upstairs." Timmy lets his friend pull him up easily, body soft and plaint, shrugging. He holds up his hand in a _what can I do?_ sort of gesture.  
  
"Bye," He says simply, grinning at Armie.  
  
"Leaving so soon?" Armie asks playfully and he can sense the blonde glaring at him from the corner of his eye. Timmy nods lazily, arm wrapping around his friend's shoulder. His green eyes look heavy, sitting prettily atop of alcohol flushed cheeks.   
  
"Don't want to make Sersh mad," He whispers loudly, laughing again, full teeth on display. And With that, Timmy lets his friend lead him away. 

Armie stands there, watching them go. For a brief moment he wonders if he should follow them, if he should use his charm and wit to get Timmy to reconsider staying here with him. But he also isn't entirely thrilled at the thought of having to continue dodging death glares from his blonde friend.  
  
"There you are!" He hears someone say from behind him suddenly, feels an arm circle around his waste. "Are you ready to go yet?" Armie can see Timmy and his friend making their way up the stairs by the kitchen. Timmy looks back at him over his shoulder, smiles, but then he's gone. 

  
"Yeah," Armie says, eventually peeling his eyes from the staircase and turning to face the brunette from earlier in the night. What's the rush, anyway? He has all year. "Let's go, I'll get us a cab." 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm having so much fun writing this! You guys are all so cute- thanks for your comments <3
> 
> Also, last night I realized that "Bet On It" is also a song from high school musical. Obviously, I have now decided that it will be the theme song for this fic. Because it is just too good. Please listen and enjoy a very dramatic and angry Zac Efron dancing about. Please feel free to envision him as Timmy or Armie instead xD  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DcLHmjw6dYY

“Okay, can we take it again from scene 18?” Timmy asks, flipping a few pages back in the script. “Alexis, that was great. But I want to see just a_ little_ more emotion when Victor walks in.” He offers an encouraging smile. The young girl nods enthusiastically as the rest of the students prepare to take it from the top. Timmy leans forward intently, elbows on his knees and pen between his teeth.

He still struggles with this part a little, doesn’t necessarily enjoy having to critique the high school students on their performance. Logically, he knows that they should be able to handle it, that it comes with the territory of being an aspiring actor (hell, he still has to deal with it on the daily as well at college). But it’s still a little difficult to be the one on the other side. Finds it strange to be critiquing them when most days, Timmy still feels like an amateur himself. He’s only a few years older than the students and sometimes, he wonders if they can tell just how out of his depths he feels. Wonders if they can sense that he sometimes feels like a fraud, like a kid just pretending to know what the hell he is doing. Whereas in reality, Timmy has no idea where his acting career is even going to take him.

Needless to say, Timmy had been surprised when his old high school had called him up, telling him there was an opening as a junior director for last year’s musical production. When Timmy had explained his reservations to Paul about taking the position (he still finds it a little strange to be calling his old teacher by his first name), the older man had talked him up. He told Timmy that he was crazy, that he was underestimating his own talent, and that the students would be more than lucky to have a seasoned alumni like himself to help out. Turns out, Timmy had absolutely loved it. And apparently, Paul had thought he was was really good at it since he was hired back for this year’s production as well.

“That was awesome, guys. Good job,” Timmy says when the scene has wrapped. “Alexis, I really felt it more this time. Keep up the good work.” The girl beams at him and he gives her a thumbs up. “Great job taking direction.” Then he glances at the clock, sees that It’s already 5 minutes to 2. “Alright, I think that’s enough for today everyone. Let’s wrap it up a bit early and I’ll see you guys on Thursday, Okay?” 

As the cast starts filing out, Timmy uses the extra few minutes to finish jotting down some notes for the next rehearsal. He waves to the last group of students as they head out.  
  
“Timmy!” He looks up and sees Paul making his way over, large smile on his face. “Thanks for leading this one, man. I just couldn’t get out of that staff meeting today.” Timmy smiles over at him, closing his notebook. 

“No worries, I’m sure that some very _riveting_ discussions were had,” He laughs, alluding to all the times Paul has complained about these meetings. “Wouldn’t have wanted you to miss out on all that fun.” Paul just smirks in response, settles into the chair next to him.

“Oh yeah,” He replies, chuckling. “Absolutely _thrilling_ stuff. Best part of my week.” He leans back in his chair, rolls his eyes, and reaches out to steal a handful of Timmy’s chips which are sitting behind him on the seat. “Next week we are discussing whether or not the teachers' microwave should be replaced. Stay tuned.” Shaking his head in amusement, Timmy laughs. “I’m only slightly exaggerating.”

  
Paul is a funny guy, Timmy loves hanging out with him. The two of them had hit it off the first day Timmy had started working there. Turns out, Timmy actually had a lot in common with the guy who used to critique his own performances and grade his Monologues. Who would have thought? It probably helps that Paul is fairly young himself, only having turned 31 a few months ago. And if Timmy is being completely honest...the man isn’t too hard on the eyes either. Timmy remembers when Paul (Mr. Brookes, at the time) had first became the new performing arts teacher at C.W Jefferson Arts School. With his dark features and slim physique, Timmy and his friends may or may not have spent the first few weeks ogling at the young teacher. They also may or may not have spent several days trying to find his facebook profile to determine if he was single or not. The girls had been disappointed when they discovered he was definitely on the market, but definitely playing for the other team.  
  
“I’ll make sure to ask you all about it,” Timmy jokes, smirking. The older man smiles and reaches up to tussle Timmy’s hair. Before he messes it up too much, Timmy jerks his head away, swatting at Paul’s hand and glares playfully. He pats down his curls.  
  
“So how were they today?” Paul asks, smile still on his lips, nodding in the direction of Timmy’s closed notebook.  
  
“Good, it was a good rehearsal,” Timmy replies, moving to stuff his notebook into his backpack. “I think we’re really making progress. A few things I am hoping we can work on next time. But listen,” Timmy glances at his watch. “I really have to get going or I'll be late for class. I’ll fill you in next time?” Paul nods in response and stands up, stretching his hands up over and behind his head. He groans.  
  
“Man, my back kills today,” He says, leaning back. “Don’t get old, Timo.” Paul leans back even more so that his shirt hikes up a little and Timmy can hear a loud crack. Timmy scrunches his face up in mock disgust at the noise and tries not to stare at the man’s exposed lower torso.  
  
“Don’t worry, I have quite a few more years to go, grandpa,” He jokes, grinning, and shoves at the older man’s arm playfully. Now it’s Paul’s turn to glare.  
  
“At least I can drink beer in public," he retorts. Timmy barks out a laugh and then covers his mouth, slinging his backpack onto his shoulder.  
  
“Well played,” he says, shrugging, still laughing. “But I’ll see ya later, old man.” Paul winks at him and Timmy turns to hide his blush.   
  
~~~~~  
  
Timmy ends up getting to Econ a few minutes early and makes his way quickly to his typical spot. He casually scans the room, eyes darting back and forth discreetly, trying to determine if Armie had already shown up or not. When he sees that Armie has not yet arrived, Timmy lets out a small sigh of relief.  
  
Not that he was nervous or anything, but If he’s being completely honest, Timmy may have been somewhat (or _strongly_) debating skipping today’s class. He wasn't entirely eager to face the other boy. Saoirse had filled Timmy in on Saturday morning about the previous night’s events, laughing as she recounted Timmy’s smooth decision to tell Armie his type was not welcome. Timmy had covered his face in shame and groaned, muttering how he should not be allowed to drink unsupervised. When Saoirse had clarified that in fact, Timmy had _definitely_ (and _luckily_) been supervised that night, Timmy had just groaned again. Told her that he should never be allowed to drink an entire bottle of wine and 2 vodka sprites while listening to Taylor Swift’s new album ever again. He will blame it all on Taylor. Yup.  
  
Now, Timmy is stressed. He taps his pen nervously against the top of the desk in front of him, leg restlessly bouncing under his palm. Armie had asked Timmy to save him a seat...does that still apply? Should he be saving the guy a seat? Timmy looks around, sees that his row is filling up quickly with other students. Does Armie even _want_ Timmy to sit with him now? After he has basically told him to screw off? Timmy bites at his lip, conflicted. Why is he acting like a 12 year old? _Fuck it_, he thinks, quickly grabbing his backpack from the floor and placing it on the chair beside him. Right. Okay, good. He will save Armie a seat.  
  
Timmy feels better, let's his shoulder's drop from where he had been holding them. It’s not that he _wants_ Armie to sit next to him, it’s that Timmy doesn’t want to be _rude. _ Armie had asked Timmy a favour and it would look rude to just ignore it, right? Right. He glances at the door, sees more students filing in. However, there’s still no sight of the tall frame and blonde hair that he's searching for. Timmy glances up at the clock, notes that class will start in only a few more minutes. Then, his eyes dart to the spot next to him again, lifts the pen he has been tapping on the table to his lips, worries it between his teeth.  
  
He notices a few more students shuffling into his row, clearly avoiding the seat with his backpack because it is evidently being saved. Saved for Armie. Armie...the guy who Timmy told was not allowed to be around him the other night..._fuck._ This is weird. This is weird, right? Timmy hastily lifts the bag off of the seat and drops it back onto the ground behind his own chair as if it's on fire. His chest feels tight with anxiety. Okay. Good. He lets his head hang forward, inwardly groans at his predicament. Can he just behave like a normal person for, like, 30 seconds please?   
  
His internal turmoil comes to a close when another student drops into the spot next to him. Timmy sighs. Thank god, problem solved. And almost on cue, Timmy notices Armie walking through the class doorway, barely making it with seconds to spare. He's wearing dark jeans that cling to his athletic legs and a dark T-shirt underneath an open cardigan. His hair is kind of damp, as if he just showered before class. He looks good, Timmy can't deny it. He also doesn't look the least bit worried about being late though...but of course he doesn't. Timmy stops himself from rolling his eyes. Armie _definitely_ looks like that kind of guy who doesn't worry about showing up to class on time, probably barely pays attention during class as well.  
  
Timmy averts his gaze and pointedly keeps his eyes fixed on his laptop screen, watches from his peripheral as Armie climbs the steps of the aisle to the left and eventually is out of sight. A few moments later, the prof walks in and class begins. It's about 30 minutes into the lecture and Timmy has almost forgotten about the entire situation. That is, until he notices an alert in the top right of his computer screen appear.   
  
**New friend request from: Armie Hammer **  
  
Timmy stills. Bites at his lip. Why is this his life? He wants to turn around to peak at where Armie is sitting, but he doesn't want to be obvious. He's pretty sure that Armie is sitting somewhere behind him though, and that means that Armie can clearly see that Timmy has his laptop open. So obviously, Armie will know that Timmy has seen his request. Before he can talk himself out of it, he opens up facebook and clicks accept. Almost instantly, he has a new message.   
  
**Armie: Thought you were going to save me a spot? **  
  
Timmy feels his cheeks heat. _Of course_ Armie would call him out on it rather than just letting it slide like most people. He hesitates, then types his reply.  
  
**Timmy: Oh shit. Sorry! I completely forgot. Busy day. **  
  
Armie doesn't reply for a few minutes and Timmy thinks that maybe that's the end of it. But then a new message pops up.   
  
**Armie: It's okay. i forgive you cause you're cute.**  
  
Oh. Timmy's entire body flushes. What is he supposed to say to that? He tries to ignore the little flip that he feels in his stomach as he thinks of a way to reply. Thankfully though, Armie follows up with another message.  
  
**Armie: But you can make it up to me. Coffee after class? **  
  
**Timmy: lol. Sorry I can't. I have to head to my playwriting class.**   
  
**Armie: Playwriting?**   
  
**Timmy: Yeah, I'm a drama major. **  
  
**Armie: And you're taking a business Economics class??? **  
  
**Timmy: lol, yeah. As an elective. **  
  
**Armie: Like I said before...cute and smart ;) **  
  
Now there is no denying that Timmy is blushing furiously, not used to people being this forward. He desperately hopes that Armie can't see the red of his cheeks from where he is sitting. He bites at the inside of his cheeks, tries to tame the smile thats threatening to break across his lips and rests his chin against his fist. It's almost impossible to focus on the lecture now, seeing as his eyes keep flicking back to the open message on the screen in front of him. When the bubbles appear to indicate that Armie is typing again, Timmy can't help but notice his heart rate pick up.   
  
**Armie: You're shy, huh? **  
  
Timmy taps his foot. God, Armie really doesn't hold back. But he can't help but smile at the message.   
  
**Timmy: I don't know. Maybe? **  
  
He hesitates for a moment and then adds the smiling angel emoji. Saoirse is really going to kill him.   
  
**Armie: Not when you're drinking though ;) **  
  
** Armie: I still want to know what no football players means. **  
  
Timmy rests his chin in both of his hands now. He shouldn't be flirting back. Timmy _knows_ what to expect from guys like Armie. He's lived it once before, swore he would never let it happen again. Hell, he had even promised Sersh only a few days ago that he wouldn't entertain this. But is there really any harm in casual flirting? It's not like Timmy is interested in him, doesn't want to _date_ him or anything. It's just for fun.   
  
He frets for a few moments about what to say back, pretends to look immersed in his notes until he feels his phone buzz in his pocket. He pulls it out to see the reminder for his 3:20 playwriting class, meaning he should start heading out. Timmy always leaves Econ a few minutes early since his next class is all the way on the other side of campus. Right now, he is very thankful for that fact because this conversation has him sweating like a middle schooler.  
  
He glances at his laptop screen again, at the open message, with no idea how to respond. He types up a few responses, then immediately chooses to erase them. Wow, what the hell is wrong with him? He starts to panic, wondering if Armie can see him struggle with his reply from where he is seated in the lecture hall. After a few more seconds, finally, he settles on simply sending Armie a smiley face and an "oops." He doesn't wait for a response from the other boy before closing the laptop screen and slipping it into his bag. He's biting at his cheek again as he quietly slips out of the room, making his way out of the lecture hall and into the crisp fall air. It only takes a few more seconds for Timmy's phone to vibrate again, this time with a new facebook alert. Another message from Armie.  
  
And If that fact makes Timmy's stomach flip a little bit with excitement...well he tries really hard to pretend that it doesn't.


	4. Chapter 4

Armie sighs, rolling over to lay on his back, chest glistening with sweat. He reaches over to the bedside table to grab a few tissues, using them to quickly discard of the soiled condom and clean himself up. 

“Fuck, that was good,” he breathes, grabbing a few more tissues and rolling back over onto his side. He drops them onto the bed next to Hayden...or was it Holden? Harold? Something like that. Armie doesn’t really know, didn’t really have much time for small talk before the other guy’s tongue was shoved down his throat at the bar earlier. Or before they hastily found a cab and stumbled into Armie’s apartment somewhere in the very early morning. Either way, the other boy nods in agreement, offers Armie a thankful smile, and leans over to give him a peck on the lips. 

“Yeah,” he says, cleaning himself off.   
  
Armie lets his eyes linger on the guy’s ass when he slowy rises from the bed. “We should do it again sometime. Number?” Armie watches as he bends down to dig his phone out of the pocket of his discarded jeans, casually tossing it onto the comforter behind him. Smirking, Armie snatches the phone and quickly dials his own number. He lets it ring for a few moments, his phone buzzing beside him on the nightstand, before tossing it back over to him.

“There ya go, add me.” Armie stands up himself now, tugs on the boxers laying hapazardly at the foot of the bed and makes his way over to the mini fridge. Bending over to grab a beer, he pops it open easily against the corner of his desk. “Want one?” 

“Nah, I’m good. Probably just gonna head out.” Armie nods, taking a swig before making his way back over to the bed and falling back onto it. 

“That’s cool,” he says, shrugging, already lazily scrolling through instagram.“Hit me up whenever,” he lifts his eyes briefly from his phone screen to look at him. “You good with getting an Uber or whatever?” The guy is fully dressed now, toeing on his shoes. 

“Yep,” he replies as he grabs his jacket off of the chair by the desk and flashes Armie a smile. “All good, I’ll text you sometime.” Armie nods again, takes another swig of his beer. It’s nice when they’re both on the same page. 

“Later,” Is all he says as the kid exits his room. He listens as footsteps make their way through the living room, the kitchen, and eventually he hears the front door open and close. Armie doesn’t bother getting up to lock it. Greg always forgets his key when they go out clubbing and Armie really isn’t in the mood to be woken up to the drunken idiot yelling and pounding on the door at 5 am. 

Armie finishes off his beer and is considering getting up to grab another when he gets a message alert on facebook. He can’t help but roll his eywhen he sees that it’s his marketing class group chat. Are you fucking kidding? Who the fuck is sending messages about a group project at 2 am on a Saturday morning? 

He exits out of the chat without even replying and that’s when he notices that Timmy’s active on messenger. He clicks into the conversation, realizing that he never replied to Timmy’s last message. Instead of replying now though, Armie decides to click onto the kid’s profile. As he starts browsing through the photos on his page, he notices that it’s pretty much exactly what Armie expected. Timmy’s profile is neat and tidy, definitely not the type to overshare or to be posting anything sloppy or indecent. He probably has to monitor himself being the Dean’s son and all. 

Armie casually scrolls for a few more moments before his attention is caught by a particular photo. It’s one of Timmy with an older, dark haired man. The man has his arm wrapped around Timmy’s waist and the younger boy is simply giving a thumbs up to the camera with that enthusiastic smile that he always wears. Armie isn’t sure where they are, but it looks like they’re in a theatre or auditorium of some sort. 

Clicking onto the photo of the two of them, Armie finds himself curiously searching for the name of the other man, frowning when he realizes that he isn’t tagged in the photo. When Armie scrolls further through Timmy’s profile in search of more photos of the pair, he can’t help but wonder what their relationship is all about. Boyfriend? It hadn’t seemed like Timmy had a boyfriend? But what does he know, really. Annoyingly, the man isn’t tagged in any of the other photos and when Armie’s eyes skim the top of Timmy’s profile, it clearly indicates “single” under relationship status. Huh.

Shrugging, Armie eventually decides to forfeit his hunt for the man’s name. Instead, Armie gets up and slowly makes his way into the kitchen, stomach suddenly aching with pre-hangover hunger. Once he has poured himself a generous portion of lucky charms, he leans over the counter to shovel spoonfuls into his mouth. He casually continues skimming through Timmy’s profile, noting that there are quite a few photos with Timmy’s family, some more with that same blonde girl (Sersha or something like that?), and a few with his dad at what appears to be college events or conferences. 

The most recent photo on Timmy’s timeline is actually from only a few hours earlier, one of Timmy with the blonde girl and a few other friends. Timmy has his arm around the girl and another guy, smiling gleefully into the camera. One of the friends is wearing a birthday pin, so that probably explains the intoxicated flush of Timmy’s cheeks and his disheveled hair.

Armie can’t help but notice the way that the red stain of the boy’s lips contrasts perfectly with his pale features. He has a pretty mouth, no doubt. That was something that Armie noticed the first time they had spoken. It’s the kind of mouth that Armie wouldn’t mind having wrapped around his cock. Wouldn’t mind having Timmy looking pretty on his knees, red pouty lips wrapped around him, eyes looking up as Armie grabbed at his hair. _Fuck. _The image has Armie’s dick stirring in his briefs. He immediately thumbs back over to the messenger app, pulling up his conversation with the younger boy.

**Armie: We should have hung out tonight**

He waits for a few moments, sees that Timmy’s name icon is green, meaning he's still active. However, it’s only once Armie has finished off his bowl of cereal, tossed it in the sink to deal with later, and made his way back to bed that his phone buzzes with a response. 

**Timmy: I don’t really hang out with random guys at 2 am**

Armie cocks an eyebrow, amused. He props himself up on a few pillows. 

**  
Armie: i meant earlier, obviously. **

**Armie: and random guy? Come on, I thought we were econ buddies. **

**  
Timmy: of course you did. **

Armie isn’t sure which message Timmy’s referring to, but he senses the sarcasm either way. He decides to ignore it.

**  
Armie:** **You looked cute tonight ;)**

Timmy’s next response makes him laugh. 

**Timmy: hmm, but don’t I always? ** ****

~~~

Timmy awakens _much too_ abruptly, to a room that is _much too_ bright, to the sight of Saoirse’s face that is definitely _much too_ close. He hopelessly stretches his hands out, pushes at the girl’s face, groaning. He can just barely make out the time on his alarm clock, eyes still blurry from sleep. And it is definitely _much too_ early. 

“Go away,” he mutters. “M’sleeping still.” He rolls over to face the other way and scrunches his eyes shut. Unfortunately, Timmy feels the mattress behind him sink with his friend’s weight as she climbs over and on top of him. She pokes his cheek. Once, twice. 

“Wake up, sleeping beauty,” she sing songs. “Today is waffle day. You cannot sleep through _waffle day_.” Timmy keeps his eyes shut, groans. 

“The hell is waffle day?” Saoirse laughs, pokes his cheek again. When Timmy finally surrenders and turns his face to look at her, he sees that the girl is beaming with delight. 

“I have an uncontrollable craving for waffles,” she says, matter of factly. “And I thought, what better way to control this craving than to wake up my best friend and go eat some waffles?” She moves to poke him again but Timmy swats at her hand quickly. Saoirse rolls off of him to lay down, giggling, and props her head up on her hand. Timmy glances at her, rolls his eyes. 

“And waffle day couldn’t have waited until I wake up?” 

“Nope,” she replies, popping her p. “I have decided that waffle day ends at 10 am. So let's get up and get going before I starve to death.” With that, Saoirse is on her feet, pulling at Timmy’s arms and yanking him to his as well.  
  
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re incredibly annoying at 9 am?” He’s smirking playfully at her as he sleepily walks across the room, picks up his phone from where it was charging on the desk.  
  
“Mmm, once or twice. I take it as a compliment.”Timmy laughs, leaning back against the side of his desk. Unlocking it, Timmy turns his face to hide his smile from her when he sees an unread message from Armie. He must have sent it after Timmy had already passed out last night.However, his smile is quick to disappear.   
  
**Armie: This is the best thing I have ever seen in my life  
  
Armie: Oh my god yes  
  
**Timmy’s entire body is suddenly on fire. Oh my god. _No._  
  
“Oh my god, _noooo_,” Timmy groans, dropping his phone onto the desk again. He covers his face with his hands. “Kill me. Please, Sersh. End my life.”  
  
“Dude, what are you talking about?” When Timmy lifts his head to look at her, Saoirse's face is one of pure confusion. He picks up his phone again and silently stretches out his arm, offering it to her, his eyes grim.  
  
“This,” He says and Saoirse takes the phone from him. It only takes a few moments before she's laughing, eyes scrunching up in genuine delight.   
  
“Oh my god. I told you to _delete_ that Tim!” Timmy hangs his head back, stares up at the ceiling, already contemplating if he should drop out of his econ class. When Saoirse continues to laugh at his utter shame, he just groans again.   
  
“It’s not funny, Sersh! Fuck, I literally just killed every _ounce_ of my sex appeal.”   
  
He’s referring to the video that Armie has just sent him. The one of his statistics rap that he had so cleverly (in his 15 year old mind) filmed for one of his high school assignments. Thinking it was absolutely hilarious at the time, Timmy had posted it to his facebook account back in the day. Now, he’s really wishing he had taken Saoirse’s advice when she had teased him about it last year and told him it was very cringe worthy.   
  
“What are you talking about? This just _oozes_ sex appeal,” Saoirse responds, winking at him through another fit of laughter. “I’m sure he’s just dying to bone you cause of this.” Timmy glares at her and saunters over, quickly snatching his phone back. Saoirse stops laughing then, seeming to come to a realization. "Hey, wait. Why are you talking to him anyway?" Her eyes are now narrowed and Timmy just ignores her.  
  
“Nope. No answers and no waffle day for you,” he says, turning to exit the room. "That's what you get for laughing and enjoying my humiliation." He hears Saoirse gasp from behind him.  
  
“What, no! I take it back! I love youuu," she whines. Timmy doesn’t turn around as he makes his way to the bathroom, simply holding up the middle finger behind his head playfully. "Timmyyyyy."  
  
“Just gimme 10 minutes to shower,” he calls out through the closed bathroom door before turning to lean his back against it. "Calm down, you'll get your damn waffles."   
  
Staring down at his phone screen, Timmy sighs, bites at his lip nervously. His cheeks are flushed red as he types his response.  
  
**Timmy: Sorry, Timmy can’t talk right now. Too busy drowning in his own humiliation. **


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys! So, so sorry for the late update. I'm in the middle of planning my wedding and moving into a new house and life just got REALLY busy for a bit there. 
> 
> I hope this chapter meets your expectations! I had a lot of fun writing this one for some reason. Also...I do apologize for how slow this is moving. But I can't help it. I just love the build up so much. 
> 
> Thanks for all of your lovely comments and feedback - you all are too sweet <3

The next week passes by pretty quickly. Between preparing for the approaching midterm season, putting in more hours than usual for the musical (Paul had been assigned to lead the debate team as well this year, so he had been stretched pretty thin lately. School budget cuts, what’s new?), and taking on some student tutoring for extra spending cash, Timmy’s week hadn’t been very exciting, to say the least. And that _may _or may not have also been a result of his econ class getting cancelled this past Tuesday. The prof had been dealing with some sort of family emergency, sending out an email with the week’s required reading and upcoming assignment details instead.  
  
And as much as Timmy doesn’t want to admit it, he _may _have been a little disappointed when he had received the email Monday night. Just slightly. Felt himself frown when his eyes scanned the words, embarrassed that his mind immediately noted that he wouldn’t be seeing Armie this week in class. That he wouldn’t be able to actually save him a seat this time...or get to speak with him in person after almost a week of on and off messaging. But on the other hand...he couldn’t help but feel a bit relieved as well, grateful that he would have a little more time to live down the embarrassment from his last conversation with the football player.  
  
Thinking back to their conversation as he makes his way through campus, Timmy feels his cheeks instantly heat, warming on their own despite the nipping wind of the fall air. The older boy had been merciless that weekend morning, relentlessly teasing Timmy about his self given rap name, joking that maybe _he_ should start calling him _lil Timmy_ instead. When Timmy had simply told him to shut up, well, Armie had then went on to mention how the name actually suited him, that it complimented how small and pretty Timmy was.   
  
And for some reason, _that_ comment alone had gotten under Timmy’s skin. Had the younger boy blushing, air somewhat trapped in his throat when he read it, unable to deny the way his body had involuntarily reacted to Armie’s words. It had Timmy suddenly picturing a scene wherein the taller boy would nip at the shell of his ear, massive hands almost _entirely_ encasing Timmy’s _much_ smaller waist, crowding him against a wall with his much _stronger_ frame. And... um...so, _yeah_. It might be a good thing that he had more time before seeing Armie again. Probably.  
  
“Dude, are you even _listening _to me?” Timmy’s eyes dart up from where he had been lazily watching his feet crunch at the fallen leaves along the cobblestone beneath him, lost in his own thoughts. He meets Ansel’s annoyed expression, offer’s his friend a weary smile.  
  
“Um, yeah?” Timmy lies, huffs out a nervous laugh. “But maybe repeat that last sentence for me?” Ansel just rolls his eyes.  
  
“Wow, _anyway,_” Ansel continues, laughing himself now as Timmy bats his eyelashes innocently in apology, “I was basically begging you to come to Violetta’s party this weekend with me. _Please. _Come on, Tim.” Timmy just tucks his chin deeper into his scarf, groans a little. They had been over this already. Ansel had been asking him to go to this party since Monday and Timmy had already declined, every single time. Ansel seems to read his mind because he continues. “Don’t be fucking lame, man. You’re really going to stay in on_ homecoming_ weekend?” Now it’s Timmy’s turn to roll his eyes.  
  
Saoirse was going away for the weekend, much to Timmy’s displeasure. She was choosing to be a traitor and visit a rival school, celebrating the other team’s homecoming which happened to fall on the exact same weekend. And by doing so, she was leaving Timmy _alone_ and drunk _dance-partnerless_ to instead go and spend time with some girl she had met in the summer when she had been visiting her cousin upstate. When Timmy had told her as such, Sersh had just laughed at him and flipped him off, told him that he was being a spoiled little brat and that he couldn’t keep her all to himself. And Timmy didn’t fight her too much on that one. He kind of was being a brat. And in all honesty, Timmy was only _slightly_ annoyed that his best friend was ditching him for a romantic prospect. He was happy for her, after all. From what Sersh had told him, the pair of them had really been hitting it off.  
  
As a result, however, Timmy had decided to spend this upcoming weekend staying in. Figured that having the apartment to himself was the perfect excuse for a long and overdue netflix marathon, an opportunity to detox his body from the mass amount of whiskey sours and 2am burritos that he had been abusing his body with for the past 1 and a half months. He was actually looking forward to it, now. Figured he could catch up on some school work, as well, maybe even get some much needed extra sleep. And with the weather getting colder each day, staying in, curled up with cozy socks and his mom’s homemade soup that she had just dropped a few days before seemed like the ideal scenario, in his opinion.  
  
“Man, I already told you. I’m just not in the mood this weekend.” He shrugs and Ansel just glares at him.  
  
“Timmy, _seriously?_” He huffs, tone sharp. “You are literally always down to go out. And the one time I need a wing-man you’re gonna bail on me?”   
  
Ugh, great. Now Timmy feels guilty. But like, come on. Staying in and watching Gilmore Girls (he was _finally _at Jess and Rory’s first Kiss and he has been waiting 2 entire seasons for this), or going to the cheerleader party with Ansel so that he could try and get with the same girl he had been pining over since 9th grade? _Again_. Timmy’s preferred choice was pretty fucking clear. And when Ansel shoves at his shoulder, eyes narrowed, Timmy has to bite at his lip, has to try very hard to keep this notion to himself and refrain from telling him that this definitely is not the _one and only time _Ansel has asked Timmy to do this.  
  
“Okay, okay,” He replies instead, sighing. And when Ansel’s eyes perk up hopefully, Timmy holds his hand up, quickly stopping him before he can get too excited. “I’ll _think_ about it. Kay?” Ansel seems pleased enough with this answer though, simply smiling back at him, and finally drops the subject.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
Saturday rolls around quickly and when Timmy wakes up that morning, he is already dreading the day that he has ahead of him. Being the Dean’s son, he’s always expected to attend these kind of events with his father. Is expected to get dressed all proper and sit obediently beside him to support the school’s football team. And afterward, as if that wasn’t already painful enough (Timmy doesn’t do sports, okay?), he has to put on an eager and interested smile, has to attend about 2 hours worth of the most mind numbing alumni celebrations, making small talk with people that he pretends he remembers the name of each and every year.  
  
Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if Timmy’s dad ever seemed to give a shit about _his_ life in any way. Timmy can count on one hand the amount of times his dad had attended one of his performances growing up. Yet, without fail, he can be found at every single one of the school’s home games (and even some of the away games), as if his life depends on it. Timmy isn’t stupid, knows that his father must have been disappointed when his one and only son had taken up ballet and theatre rather than cars and football. But he doesn’t even try to hide it. And that thought alone is enough to leave a bitter taste in Timmy’s mouth regarding the entire weekend. All in all, homecoming was kind of a pain in his ass.  
  
Padding his way out of the steamed up washroom, towel tied low on his waist, Timmy can’t help but acknowledge that at least this year, things could be a_ little _more interesting, seeing as he will get to watch Armie play up close. His dad and him always sat in the very first bench behind the Team. And he’s not going to lie, it'll be a little more fun than usual now that he’s got a player to focus on. Actually finds himself caring a bit if their team wins or loses. And although it’s _definitely not_ the first thing that crossed his mind during his shower that morning...getting to see Armie in his football uniform, with those tight pants that leave nothing to the imagination, isn’t necessarily a displeasing image, either. Timmy’s stomach flips. Yup. Not a bad image at all.  
  
About half an hour later, Timmy has just finished styling his curls, swooping them back and away from his face, just the way his mom likes, and the way his dad expects during one of these events. He’s pulled on skinny black khakis and a beige sweater that actually kind of fits his frame today, pairs it with a collared shirt underneath. He’s casually thumbing through his phone as he slips on his brown boots and pea-coat, doesn’t even realize he’s opening up his Facebook conversation with Armie until it’s staring right back at him. Worrying at his bottom lip, he finds himself suddenly debating if he should send Armie a message or not before the game. Just a friendly good luck thing. Nothing special. On cue, his phone dings with a text message. His heart skips a beat for a second, briefly thinking it could be Armie.  
  
**Dad: I’m parked outside. Hurry or we’ll be late.****  
****  
**Sighing, irritation instantly blossoming under his skin like an allergic reaction (healthy parental relationships always do that, right?), he quickly buttons up his coat and wraps his scarf around his neck. Before he can think anything more of it, Timmy fires off a simple “_good luck today!_” message to Armie, shoving the phone quickly into his pocket before heading out the door.  
  
~~~~~  
  
Timmy spends most of the game not so discretely staring at Armie’s perfectly toned ass as he runs up and down the field in front of him. Well that, and also texting Saoirse, berating her for leaving him this weekend and making him endure "quality" alone time with his father. The two of them had been best friends growing up, and consequently, she had practically became like family. Usually, Saoirse would be right next to him during these games, offering him moral support, and acting as a safe and polite buffer between Timmy and his father.  
  
However, today he was on his own. And in Timmy’s opinion, the less conversation between the two of them, the better. It would be nice to get through this day only _mildly_ nauseated by his dad’s fake demeanour. The one where he would toss his arm over Timmy’s shoulders, grin at him "proudly", pretend that the two of them were just _so close_ while in sight of his faculty, alumni, and colleagues.  
  
**Sersh: I love you. Please don’t bite his head off. ****  
****  
****Timmy: No promises…****  
****  
****Timmy: Love you too <3 ****  
****  
**By the middle of the second half, Armie had already caught Timmy staring at him probably a total of 8 times. Each time, Timmy swears under his breath, flushing bright red, and looks away quickly. Smooth Timmy. _So smooth._ However, he doesn’t fail to notice the smirk that the older boy gives him each time, sometimes even a little wave, and that just makes Timmy blush even more, has him staring back down at his phone, wishing he could text Saoirse for some urgent flirting tips. He refrains from doing so though, because after their waffle date on the weekend, Sersh had reamed him out for even entertaining Armie’s advances. She wasn’t very happy with him, to say the least.   
  
When the game is finally over, the crowd behind him is cheering for the home team win and Timmy stands with his father, clapping in congratulations. He watches as the team huddles together, yelping and hollering, clapping each other on the back in celebration. The cheerleaders are jumping up and down enthusiastically, pom poms shaking in the air, and Timmy can’t peel his eyes away as one of them runs up and wraps her arms around Armie’s chest, laughing in delight. Timmy feels his stomach drop, watches as Armie pulls back, smiling at the girl in return. He flirtatiously tugs at the bow of her pony tail, fingers curling into her brunette locks, and Timmy can’t help but wonder who she is. Were they hooking up? When he feels his fists clenching against his sides anxiously, Timmy scoffs and shakes his head, annoyed with himself. What does it matter, anyway? Armie is a player, gets with someone new every week. He already _knew_ that.   
  
But Timmy is still watching as Armie pulls his helmet off now, pushing blonde locks back from his damp forehead, face red with exertion. The girl leans up on her toes to peck him on his cheek and Timmy has to make a point of ignoring the wave of red hot jealousy that hits him. And when Armie suddenly turns his gaze, turning his neck to look over in Timmy’s direction, Timmy swears that he stops breathing for a second when his own eyes lock with piercing blue. _Holy shit._   
  
Armie glances back at the girl quickly, seems to tell her goodbye, and then he’s walking over to him and Timmy feels himself start to panic, unprepared. He shoves his phone into his pocket, hands clammy, rocks back onto his heels. His eyes dart nervously from Armie’s gaze, to his own feet. Back to Armie. Down to his sweaty chest. No, _no,_ back up to his face. _Christ._ But before Timmy can actually combust, Armie is in front of him, as tall and gorgeous as ever.  
  
“Nice surprise, seeing you here,” Armie tells him, beaming. Timmy almost feels blinded by the intensity of his smile, teeth pearly white. Was this guy a fucking _Disney prince_ or something? Timmy somehow remembers to smile, feels himself nod.  
  
“Yeah,” he says, voice a bit shaky. He clears his throat. “Um, good game. Congratulations on the win.” Timmy gives him a thumbs up and instantly wants to die. What the _hell?_ A thumbs up? Armie doesn’t seem to think anything of it though, just continues to smile at him, helmet tucked under his arm against his waist.  
  
“Thanks,” Armie replies. “It was a pretty good game, yeah.” He pauses to take a sip out of the water bottle he is clutching and Timmy watches as his adam's apple bobs, watches the lines of Armie’s neck and jaw work as he drinks. Timmy wills himself to breathe. When he’s done, Armie looks back at him. “You coming to the party tonight? The one the cheerleaders are throwing?” Timmy is relieved, realizes he actually can speak about something without sounding like a complete idiot. _Thank you Ansel_.  
  
“The one at Violetta’s place?” He asks, and Armie just nods. “Yeah, um, yeah...was actually thinking of heading there with a friend of mine.” Timmy is nodding himself, curls falling into his eyes and he sheepishly pushes them back behind his ear. Armie’s smirking now, appearing pleased.  
  
“Awesome. I'd _really_ like it if you did,” he says and that makes Timmy's chest tighten, something warm and fuzzy pressing there. But then someone is calling Armie's name and the taller boy turns to look over his shoulder. Timmy sees a group of other football guys waiting for him to leave the field, all staring in their direction. Timmy flushes, rubs at the back of his neck and averts his gaze. “Well, hope I see you tonight then, _lil Timmy,_” Armie says, voice teasing, glancing back at him and he _winks. _Timmy wants to protest the nickname but just hears himself laughing shyly instead, nodding. Armie gives him one last smirk and then he turns.   
  
Timmy watches him leave, tries to will his heart to please calm the hell down. And when Armie has finally disappeared behind the bleachers, Timmy is instantly tugging his phone out of his pocket, opening up a new message to Ansel.  
  
**Timmy: Sooo...You still wanna go to that party tonight?**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Promise they interact more in the next chapter ;)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is super long! Couldn't stop writing it! Enjoy, my dears <3 
> 
> Chapter starts out in Timmy's POV. Then switches to Armie's
> 
> (we're finally getting to the point wohoo).

When Timmy and Ansel arrive at Violetta’s that night, Timmy is already fairly drunk. That hadn’t been his initial plan though, had only intended to have a few drinks so that he could still spend his Sunday catching up on some school work rather than nursing his now inevitable hangover. But when Timmy had been perusing his closet earlier that night in search of an outfit, the skittish flutter in his chest and the restless drumming of his fingers against his thighs had indicated that he was in desperate need of a drink. Just something to put his brain in check, to help ease the unwarranted eagerness that Timmy was trying to stifle. And once Timmy had already downed two glasses of wine, Ansel had shown up shortly after, hands clutching a full bottle of jagger and a pack of red bull. It was all downhill from there.

Now, Timmy is feeling pretty good. Loves the way his body is feeling warm and relaxed as he lazily slings an arm over Ansel’s shoulder and makes his way through the door of Violetta’s massive entranceway. It was no secret that her family was really well off, both of her parents being some sort of hot shot executives who always seemed to be away for business. And in their absence, it appeared that the girl was pretty much allowed to have free rein over the family home whenever she wanted. A possible way to makeup for a lacking family life he supposes.

The first thing Timmy notices when they enter is that the place is absolutely packed, buzzing loudly with a sea of students who are decked out in school colours and jerseys, still fired up on the team’s big win. Music is blaring from somewhere behind the kitchen and when he glances over, Timmy notices a game of beer pong already underway, a large group of people all crowded around to watch. He pointedly tries not to scan the group for tall blonde hair and broad shoulders. However, Timmy does easily spot few of their mutual friends and he wastes no time in grabbing Ansel’s wrist, dragging him through the dense crowd to join them, head already nodding along to the beat. Sabrina spots them just as they approach.

“Guys!” She exclaims, large smile on her face, moving forward to pull them each into a hug. “Hey, how’s it going?” Stepping back, Timmy smiles.

“_So _ great,” he replies, voice a little slurred. He leans into Ansel’s side, steadying himself. “You thinking of playing?” He gestures toward the beer pong table, smirking playfully, fully aware that Sabrina lacks all and any coordination skills. The last time she had played beer pong she had managed to knock over all of _ her own cups. _She just rolls her eyes at him, shaking her head.

“Obviously not,” she laughs. “You guys?” Timmy shrugs.  
  
“Doubt it,” he says, turning to look at Ansel, wagging his eyebrows mischievously. “Ansel is here on a mission tonight.”

“_Dude. _” Ansel says, glaring at him. That makes Sabrina chuckle, hand reaching out to grab Ansel’s arm reassuringly.

“Oh, relax,” she tells him. “It’s not like you don’t talk about her_ literally _ every time we go out.” She’s grinning as she says so and Ansel rolls his eyes at them when Timmy chuckles, nodding in agreement. “Oh, actually. That reminds me!” Sabrina continues excitedly, hands clapping together. She glances over her shoulder in the direction of the current beer pong game. Timmy follows her gaze, notices a boy that Timmy had met a few weeks ago when he had bumped into Sabrina at the Library. “Do you remember my friend Cody?” She asks, discreetly pointing toward him. “He thinks you’re _ really _ hot. Totally wants me to set you guys up.”

Timmy blushes in surprise, eyebrows raising. Although he wasn’t Timmy’s usual type, there was no denying that Cody was definitely attractive. Timmy remembers thinking so when they had met that day, couldn’t help but notice how Cody’s dirty blonde waves had contrasted nicely with a set of warm brown eyes. Had found himself intrigued by the boy’s eyebrow rings and tattooed forearms, something that Timmy wasn’t usually into, but also something that he couldn’t deny suited Cody _ really _well. He continues to watch as Cody chugs a solo cup worth of beer, the other team having just sunk a ball. When he tosses the emptied cup to the side, passing the ball to his partner, his eyes lift and he meets Timmy’s gaze. Instantly smiling, he offers Timmy a friendly wave and it makes Timmy grin in return before he’s ducking his head and turning away, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“Yeah, I remember him,” Timmy replies, still smiling, glancing back up at Sabrina. “I definitely wouldn’t say _ no _ to that.” He laughs, shrugging. Sabrina looks elated.

“Oh my god, amazing,” she says, “He’s the best, really.” Timmy stuffs his hands into his pockets, just grins in response.   
  
They chat for a few more minutes, but then Sabrina excuses herself when one of her friends tugs on her arms to deal with some sort of makeup crisis, and Timmy and Ansel make their way over to the kitchen counter which is stocked with beer and snacks. Grabbing two beers, Ansel pops the top open on each of them before passing one to Timmy.  
  
“She’s over there,” Ansel murmurs nodding toward the other side of the kitchen. Timmy doesn’t need to look to know who he’s talking about. He laughs.  
  
“Go talk to her, then,” Timmy replies simply, trying his best to be supportive. When Ansel doesn’t make a move Timmy rolls his eyes, laughs again. “You dragged me here tonight for this, man. You have to talk to her at least.” Timmy doesn’t mention that he may have had his _ own _ reasons for showing up tonight as well, despite Armie not being anywhere in sight. Maybe he didn’t even come to the party after all? Timmy doesn’t like the way his stomach drops at the thought.  
  
“Yeah, okay,” Ansel says then, taking a swig from his beer. “You’re right.” He glances over in Violetta’s direction again before turning back to Timmy. “You cool chilling here for a bit?” Timmy nods.  
  
“Yeah, I need to take a leak anyway.” And when Ansel slaps him on the back in thanks and ventures away, Timmy makes his way out of the kitchen in search of the bathroom.  
  
  
  
Pushing himself through the throng of people, Timmy successfully makes it into the tight hallway without spilling too much of his drink. Defying his own languid limbs and swaying body, he continues to shimmy by groups of people dancing and shouting, just manages to avoid getting knocked to the ground when two guys break out into a fight a couple feet away, and _ finally _ makes it to the end of the hall where he spots the washroom. His head is starting to feel a little heavy now from all of the alcohol, face sweaty and flushed, and he decides he should probably get some water soon before this night and his stomach takes an unpleasant turn. As he nears the washroom, Timmy finds that the door is barricaded by some guy who has a girl pushed up against the wall beside it, their legs and arms blocking half of the doorway as they make out agressively.  
  
“Sorry, uh...scuse me,” Timmy says, trying to reach for the handle. But the pair don’t seem to hear him. Instead, the girl wraps one leg around the guy’s waist, moaning shamelessly into his mouth and Timmy rolls his eyes, annoyed. He really has to fucking piss. This time he clears his voice, speaks up louder, “Hey, can you two _ move? _ ” That seems to catch their attention, faces breaking away from each other and turning to look at him.  
  
And in that moment, Timmy decides that the universe is _ seriously _ trying to fucking kill him. Because staring back at him is _Armie._ Armie... who is with the same girl that had been all over him after the football game. With his hair all messed up from where she had been gripping at it and with lipstick smeared across the corner of his mouth. Armie...who is looking down at Timmy, cheeks flushed and chest rising and falling with heavy breathes because he had just been _ sucking that girl’s face. _ And _ Fuck. _ _  
_ _  
_ Fuck fuck fuckity _ fuck. _ Timmy instantly regrets coming out tonight.  
  
“Shit. Sorry. Uh...” Timmy mumbles after gaping back at them for a few seconds, entire body burning red hot as the pair moves away from the door to let him through. Armie is staring at him, blue eyes fairly glazed over himself, and he actually seems a bit surprised. “Sorry,” Timmy just says again, mortified, brain failing to supply any other words. And then he’s hastily gripping the door’s handle, pushing himself into the washroom and slamming it shut behind him.  
  
Yeah, forget water. He needs another drink.  
  
~~~~  
  
The kid was pretty fucking cute. Armie can’t lie. He had caught Timmy staring at him multiple times throughout the game and it was pretty fucking endearing when the kid would try and look away quickly each time, as if he hadn’t just been blatantly watching Armie for the past ten minutes straight. Armie didn’t usually have a thing for the shy ones. Didn’t really have the patience when it came to his hookups, if he’s being frank. But something about Timmy’s pale cheeks that flushed just the right shade of pink when he was flustered, and the mop of curls that constantly fell into his doe like eyes, well...it was kind of working for Armie. Had him wondering just how prettily Timmy’s skin would blush if he was laying beneath him, Armie’s fingers buried deep in his ass.  
  
When Armie had chatted Timmy up after their win, he had watched as Timmy fumbled over his words, eyes struggling to maintain contact and clearly rattled. It had made Armie grin, pleased with the effect he clearly already had on the smaller boy, liked the way every emotion was written so plainly on his face as if he couldn’t help it. Greg really had no idea how easy he had made this bet for Armie. Not only would Armie have the kid giving it up to him in _no time_, but the more Armie thought about it, the more he couldn’t wait to have Timmy’s dainty body pressed to his, delicate mouth opening up for him eagerly.  
  
“Been almost a month, man,” Greg teases when they make their way off the field. “And all you’ve done is flirt like middle schoolers?” Armie furrows his brow, annoyed.  
  
“Oh, fuck off,” he replies. “When’s the last time you’ve even seen a girl’s tits? And porn doesn’t fucking count.” Nick and Kevin bark out a laugh and Armie smirks at Greg’s infuriated expression. “And he’s coming to the party tonight. And back to our place after, _ obviously. _ ”  
  
“Whatever,” Greg replies, flipping him off as they near the parking lot behind the stadium. “Anyway, I told the rest of the boys burgers at 5. Should we just head over there now? Grab some tables?” They stop at Nick’s truck, each of them tossing their bags and equipment into the back.  
  
“Shit, forgot to mention,” Armie says. “I’m meeting up with my mom and uncle for dinner actually. Since they came to see the game.”  
  
“Nice,” Nick says. “Did your dad make it out today?” His voice is laced with hesitation, as if he’s not really sure if he should be asking. Armie’s shoulders stiffen.  
  
“Nah, he didn’t,” Armie replies, matter of factly. “Wasn’t having the best day, you know how it is,” he shrugs, swallows around the lump forming in his throat. Nick is looking at him now, eyes sympathetic, and he grips Armie’s shoulder, squeezing reassuringly. He offers Armie a sad smile.  
  
“Sorry man,” Nick replies softly and Armie doesn’t reply. Just shrugs once more before climbing into the passenger seat, desperately tries to ignore the growing ache in his chest.  
  
~~~~~~  
  
Dinner couldn’t have ended fast enough. And when Armie gets back to his apartment that night, he’s in a vile mood. Nick and Greg are already pre drinking on the couch, crushing back beers in front of the T.V. And when Armie saunters in, stomping his way to the kitchen to grab one of his own, slamming the fridge door behind him, neither of them ask him what’s wrong. They don’t really need to ask now days. Armie plops down onto the couch neck to Nick, kicks his feet up on the coffee table and downs half of his beer in one go.  
  
“Let’s get fucked up tonight,” he says, taking another swig. Nick looks over at him, with that same concerned expression as earlier, and Armie tries not to scowl in return. Knows that his friend is just worried about him. Armie _ really _ needs to get fucked up tonight.  
  
He spends the next hour and a half crushing beer after beer, barely taking a break, not even when Nick jokes that maybe he should take it easy, just ignoring him instead. And by the time the three of them are ready to head out to the party, Armie has successfully blocked out any images of his mom’s saddened face during dinner that night. Can barely remember the way her eyes had been shiny wet as she told him how proud his dad will be to hear they won, that she took a bunch of pictures and videos to show him tomorrow.  
  
He spots Liz right away when they show up at the party. She is hanging near the entranceway, still in her cheerleader outfit, and without missing a beat, Armie makes his way over to her. He grabs her hand, pulling her away from her friends without a word, and leads her down the hall. Within seconds, he has her pushed up against one of the walls, hands eagerly roaming up and down her body, cupping at her breasts and ass. Liz goes with it easily, used to when Armie gets this way. The two of them had been friends since they were young, friends with benefits since the middle of high school, and Liz always seems to know when Armie was in need of a good fuck to clear his head. When he needs a physical distraction to numb the scalding hot memories of his father and how happy his family used to be.  
  
When Liz clutches tight at his hair, leg coming up to wrap around his waist so that their hips push together in just the right way, Armie is feeling pretty good. A lot better than a few hours ago. He’s just about to ask her if she wants to head upstairs, to go find an empty room, when they’re interrupted by an exasperated voice asking them to get out of the way. Armie swears under his breath, really not in the fucking mood to deal with some prude, and pulls back to turn and look at the kid. He’s just about the tell the kid to fuck off when he stops, instantly recognizing a head full of curls and green eyes staring back at him. Timmy’s eyes widen instantly, mouth dropping open, and for some reason, Armie can’t seem to say anything. A few moments pass before Timmy speaks, voice rushed and face burning.  
  
“Shit. Sorry. Uh...” Timmy says, looking so incredibly uncomfortable, bottom lip caught between his teeth. Armie suddenly has the urge to grab that same lip between his own. “Sorry,” he says again, and then he’s pushing past them as fast as he possibly can, slamming the door behind him.   
  
Armie stares at the closed door, brain still fuzzy, tries to process what just happened. Liz’s laugh breaks him from thought.  
  
“Oh crap, isn’t that the kid?” she asks him, hand gesturing to the closed bathroom door. Armie nods.  
  
“Yeah,” he says, looking back at her. “I think I just traumatized him, though.” Liz laughs again, leans up to wipe at the side of his mouth with her thumb, cleaning it off.  
  
“Yikes. Well, I’m going to grab a drink then,” she tells him, winking. “Wouldn’t want to get in the way of that.” When Armie laughs in response, smiling in gratitude, she walks off, adjusting her skirt as she goes.   
  
Armie turns around and leans back against the wall, groaning. _ Shit. _ He probably should have been a little more careful tonight. He had forgotten that Timmy would be here...didn’t really consider how Timmy seeing him basically dry humping someone else could sabotage the main goal for tonight. Hopefully he can still do some damage control. Armie waits there for a few minutes, and finally, the bathroom door opens, revealing a frail and hesitant Timmy who scurries past him quickly. Armie moves away from the wall, grabs the kid’s arm.  
  
“Hey,” he says, smiling when Timmy turns to look at him, that same lip still caught under his teeth. “Where you going?” The look Timmy gives him is kind of hilarious, brows tightening together, eyes darting back and forth behind Armie. He's clearly searching for Liz. Eventually, he replies.  
  
“Uh…” he says, pulling his arm out of Armie’s grasp. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to like, interrupt.” He’s pulling at the ends of his shirt nervously, and Armie lets his eyes rake up and down Timmy’s body. He’s wearing loose jeans with the bottoms tucked into a pair of socks, a black v-neck tshirt hanging over his thin upper torso, and a thin chain hanging around his neck. The outfit shouldn’t work, but it really does for Timmy. He looks delicious. Armie smirks, runs a hand through his hair.  
  
“You didn’t interrupt anything,” Armie tells him, shrugging. “I’d rather talk to you.” Timmy’s eyes narrow suspiciously and it makes Armie chuckle. “Don’t look so surprised, kid.” When Timmy doesn’t reply, Armie reaches out and grabs at Timmy’s shirt, pulling him so that he’s standing closer. Timmy stumbles a little when he does so, hands flying forward to steady himself against Armie’s chest. When he glances up, his face is red, eyes blown wide. Armie’s dick jerks. “Let’s go somewhere more private, yeah?” The smaller boy looks conflicted for a moment, eyes nervously searching his own. But then he’s nodding shyly, letting Armie grab his hand and lead him around the corner and up the staircase.  
  
They find an empty room and Armie lets Timmy in ahead of him, closing the door behind them. He watches as Timmy shuffles his way over to the bed, pausing at the foot of it. Instead of sitting own, Timmy pulls out the desk chair beside the bed, plopping himself onto it. Armie has to stop himself from rolling his eyes, walks over and drops onto the bed, turns his neck to face him.  
  
“So,” Armie says, leaning back so that his elbows are propping him up behind his back. His legs are splayed and he smirks when he notices Timmy’s gaze fall to the still semi hard bulge of his groin. “Are you gonna be my Econ partner?” The question grabs the kid’s attention, has him looking up at Armie, confused.  
  
“What?” he asks, voice shaky, hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck. Timmy takes a swig of his beer.  
  
“The Econ assignment,” Armie replies, smirking. “The prof’s email said we can do it independently or with a partner.” That makes Timmy laugh, quirking an eyebrow in surprise.  
  
“So basically,” Timmy says, sounding more confident, “You want me to do all the work so that you can get an easy A?” His voice is teasing as he rolls his eyes, yet it still has a bit of bite to it. Armie raises his eyebrows, amused.  
  
“Feisty,” he replies. Timmy lifts a hand in a _ “so what” _ kind of gesture, smiling mischievously and Armie leans up, getting to his feet. He walks around to the side of the bed, sitting on the edge so that his knees are only a few inches from touching Timmy’s. He smiles smugly when the boy’s eyes widen a little. “Maybe I just want an excuse to spend more time with you,” Armie tells him, winking. Timmy laughs a little in response, ducking his head and when he looks back up at Armie, his eyes are slightly hidden behind his curls. _ Jesus Christ _ That look is sinful. Timmy must know what he looks like when he does that. It has Armie leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. “I’ll take that as a yes, then?”  
  
“Sure, whatever,” Timmy replies, trying to hide his smile but failing and it makes Armie grin. Reaching out a hand to grip at Timmy’s wrist, he tugs on it, other hand patting the spot next to him on the bed.  
  
“I don’t bite you know,” Armie jokes, causing the other boy to glare at him playfully. But then Timmy is standing up and moving to join him on the bed, still leaving a few feet between them though. When he pulls his feet up to sit crossed legged, Armie can’t help but lean over and tug at one of his curls, watching it bounce back into place when he lets go. It makes Timmy blush. “_Sooo,_” Armie continues. “You never told me what this football player thing is all about.” Timmy barks out a laugh at that, hand coming up to cover his mouth and his eyes are crinkled in amusement.  
  
“Oh my god,” Timmy replies, shaking his head. “I was _ so _ drunk that night. I totally didn’t mean to say that.” Armie snickers, watches the way Timmy pushes the curls back from his face. “Basically,” Timmy resumes, “I used to date a football guy back in high school. It didn’t end very well and now Saoirse thinks I have a type.” He shrugs, taking another sip of his beer.  
  
“So you’re saying I’m your type?” Armie smirks, leaning in closer to the smaller boy. Timmy rolls his eyes, mouth curved in a small smile.  
  
“I said Saoirse _ thinks _ I have a type,” he replies. “I never said she was right.” He’s staring back at Armie, a daring look in his eyes, taunting him. Armie likes it, kind of turns him on. Smirking, he steals the bottle from Timmy’s hand, takes a swig for himself.  
  
“That’s a shame,” Armie says, voice low, moving forward so that his leg is pressed to the side of Timmy's leg. “You’re definitely _my_ type.” He doesn’t expect Timmy to laugh again at this, arms crossing against his chest in defiance.   
  
“_Really?" _Timmy asks, tone dripping sarcasm, "I didn’t realize I wore short skirts and had boobs pushed up to my neck,” Timmy retorts, shaking his head. When he grabs the bottle back from Armie, taking another sip, he raises his eyebrows in question.  
  
“That was Liz,” Armie tells him, shrugging. “We’re good friends. She’s convenient.” He realizes that it sounds way worse than he intended when Timmy looks at him, unamused.   
  
“Charming,” Timmy replies, tone dry.   
  
But then Armie is leaning closer, hand moving to rest on Timmy’s thigh and he watches as the younger boy’s eyes dart down to look. When he glances back up, his face is flushed that pretty pink colour again and Armie wants to kiss him, eyes glued to the way Timmy’s mouth parts in surprise. He can feel Timmy's breath against his face and Armie's just about to lean in when suddenly, Timmy is standing up quickly, one hand pushing through his curls nervously. He giggles.   
  
“Um,” Timmy says, glancing away. “I should probably get your number. Uh, for the project. It’s easier than facebook.” Armie wants to groan, body humming with both arousal and disappointment all at once. Instead, he reaches into his back pocket to retrieve his phone, hands it to the other boy.  
  
“You’re _killing_ me,” is all he says, raising the heel of his other hand to rub at his face in frustration.   
  
Timmy just smiles shyly and takes the phone from Armie, starts typing in his information. Armie leans back, body still heavy and intoxicated, and lets his eyes roam the kid’s face. He feels himself smile, wonders how it's possible that he hadn't noticed Timmy before this semester. The kid really was beautiful.  
  
The thought makes Armie still, body going stiff. Wait. _ What the hell? _Armie shakes his head, rubs at his eyes again. He's more drunk than he thought, it was totally messing with his head. Choosing to ignore his brain's random lapse of judgement, Armie is just about to ask Timmy if he wants to get out of here and head back to his place. But then the boy is tossing his phone back to him, stuffing his hands in his pockets.  
  
“I need to go,” Timmy says, voice cold. It catches Armie by surprise.  
  
“What?” Armie asks, trying to sound nonchalant as he stands from the bed. “Why so soon?” Shy smile no longer anywhere to be seen, Timmy shrugs, doesn't meet his gaze.  
  
“I’m here with my friend. Should probably go find him,” Timmy replies simply. “And it looks like you’ll be busy tonight anyway.” When Armie just looks at him, confused, Timmy continues. “You got a text.” And then Timmy is looking up at him finally, for the briefest of moments. Then he's rolling his eyes and walking out, leaving Armie alone in the room. Armie glances over his shoulder, bewildered.  
  
Fucking _ seriously? _ _  
_ _  
_ Squinting down at his phone, Armie groans when he reads the text message Timmy must have just seen. It's the guy from the other night.  
  
**Holden???: I’m horny as shit. Still wanna meet up?   
** **  
** **  
** _Ugh._ God dammit.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I knowwww. Don’t hate me 😇


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update on this one!! I spent most of my week working on a chapter that's to come far in the future. I couldn't help myself. So now I have 4000 words of a chapter I can't post for several weeks but I'm itching to get there. Priorities, right?? (Does anyone else do this, too? Please tell me I'm not alone).
> 
> This chapter's a little uneventful (you know me, I love dragging this thing out). But don't worry, I have lots of fun planned ahead. 
> 
> Thanks for all your amazing support! xox You guys make this really fun.

“So, wanna know something pretty funny?” Greg says on Monday morning. They’re out on the field, dressed and ready for practice, and waiting for coach to show up. Armie’s bending over, lacing up his shoes when he glances up at his roommate, already feels the need to roll his eyes before the idiot even says anything more. Why the fuck was he friends with this guy, again?

“What, asshole?” Armie grunts, standing up. He shoots Greg a daring look when he sees the guy’s shit eating grin. “Enlighten me.”

“Well, I just couldn’t help but notice,” Greg continues, voice arrogant, smirking. “I never got the pleasure of meeting your _ friend _ this weekend. _ Shame, _ I stayed up waiting for you two to come back on Saturday. You know, like you said you would.” Armie’s eyes narrow.

“You’re a riot,” is all he says, bending down to pick up one of the footballs by his feet.

“But funnily enough,” Greg keeps going and Armie really wants to punch him. “You came back _ alone. _Without the kid.” Armie doesn’t reply, just turns and places his helmet on his head, pointedly ignoring the laughs and chuckles from the rest of the group who are stretching and warming up their muscles nearby.

“Don’t you think that’s funny, Nick?” Greg taunts from behind him when Armie doesn’t answer, clearly trying to get a rouse out of him. When Armie whips his head over to Nick, eyes fierce, he can see that his other friend is desperately trying his best to hide his own smirk. When Nick catches Armie’s stare, he offers him a sympathetic half grin.

“Come on, man,” Nick says eventually around a hesitant laugh, shrugging. “He _ does _ have a point.”  
  
But Armie just grunts, rolls his eyes, choosing to ignore the both of them. He doesn’t have time for this shit, he thinks, as he begins to walk away, deciding to warm up with a few agility drills on his own. Fuck the others.

But when he hears Greg call out after him, something about Armie struggling to get _ a twinky little virgin into bed, _ Armie turns around quickly, whipping the ball at him with such force that it catches the other guy off guard, hitting him square in the chest. Greg sputters, the air knocked straight out of him, leaning forward and clutching at his abdomen as he wheezes. Armie beams.

“Is that what you sound like choking on your dad’s dick?” He calls back, wide smile now painting his own face.

Greg just swears at him around his fit of coughs.

Armie smirks.

  
~~~~~~~

After practice, Armie’s towelling off his hair, resting on one of the benches in the locker room clad in his boxers. Most of the other guys have already left, the room now sparse, but Armie is in no rush. He had worked himself particularly hard today, having the need to feel his muscles burn and ache in a way that would distract from the unrelenting funk he had been in since the weekend. Now, his body is reaping the consequences so he’s taking his time, letting his sore limbs relax as he fiddles around on his phone.

Somehow, he’s managed to pull up his new text thread with Timmy, eyeing the lone message that he had sent the kid yesterday afternoon, the unmistakable _ read _ indication hovering beneath it. Timmy had never replied, leaving Armie’s _"wish you hadn’t left so soon" _unanswered. And for some reason, that was actually getting under his skin, had Armie’s fingers itching to type up something new, to try and get the kid’s attention.

**  
Armie: You going to ignore me in class tomorrow, too? Don’t break my heart, Lil Timmy Tim. **

  
Once he sends it, Armie locks his screen, laying the phone face down on the bench next to him. He finds that he’s actually hoping Timmy will respond, hoping that maybe he had just forgotten about Armie’s message yesterday. He’s got a bet to win, after all, and Greg was really starting to get on his goddam nerves. Armie wants to shut him up for good. That’s definitely why he’s feeling on edge right now, already trying to resist the urge to flip his phone back over, to see if the boy is typing anything in response. A few moments pass, and just when he’s just about to cave, Nick appears, dropping into the spot next to him.

“You alright, man?” Nick asks him, voice gentle. “You’ve been really weird since dinner with your mom.” Armie stands up, tossing his damp towel into his gym bag and starts tugging a sweater on. “And you seemed like you really wanted to murder Greg today. You know, more than _usual,_” he laughs.

“Yeah,” Armie replies, shrugging. “You know. Just the usual.” When his head pops through the top of his shirt, Armie can see that Nick’s nodding in understanding, but his eyes still read concern. “Really, I’m cool Nick,” Armie tells him, forces himself to smile and moves to slap a hand on his friend’s back. “I appreciate you always looking out for me, though. _Really._” The other boy stands up now as well, slings his own bag over his shoulder.

“Always, man,” Nick says, smiling. “You know that.”  
  
And Armie _ does _ know that. Nick had always been his rock growing up, his person to turn to when things were rough, especially these last few years when everything had gone to shit. He’s pretty fucking lucky to have found him, if he’s being honest.

“Yeah, I do,” Armie smiles at him in response, continues to tug on the rest of his clothes and shoes.

“Sooo,” Nick says then after a few moments, tone shifting to something lighter, changing the subject. “About this _ kid, _ what the hell is going on with that, dude?” Armie just groans, rubs a hand over his face.

He proceeds to tell Nick about what occurred on Saturday, how he had been so close to getting Timmy to come home with him... and how it had all gotten fucked up. Armie can't hide his frustration as he recalls the situation, keeps picturing the kid’s hardened gaze when he had handed Armie back his phone that night and moved to leave. The expression hadn’t suited him, Armie remembers thinking, had looked foreign and out of place on Timmy’s delicate and soft features. He shakes his head now, ignoring the way he remembers instantly wanting to change that, to get the kid smiling up at him again. What was that about?  
  
And as he makes his way out of the locker room with Nick, heading to their next class, he definitely does not check his phone several times on the short walk to see if the younger boy had possibly responded.

Maybe only once or twice.

~~~~~~~

“She’s just like, really perfect,” Saoirse gushes, eyes beaming as she recounts her weekend, unable to rid the smile from her face. She had just gotten back in town earlier that morning and the two of them had decided to meet up for lunch between classes. Timmy had been more than eager to hear all about her weekend with Ana, feeling as though he had been waiting years already, and telling his friend to spill the minute they both sat down in the bustling college centre.

“Wow, Sersh,” Timmy says, smirking as he stabs at his noodles. “You’re like, totally head over heels already.” Saoirse just shrugs in response, continues to smile at him.

“I don’t know,” She replies, fingers twirling absently at the ends of her hair. “You know me. I’m not usually like,_ this _ into anyone so soon. But she’s...she’s just really special.”  
  
Timmy swallows a forkful of food, his own smile pulling at his lips now. He’s not going to lie, this is pretty fucking cute. It had been a long time since Saoirse had even contemplated going on a date with someone, usually turning down most girls that even had the balls to ask her out. She had pretty high standards, to say the least. And Timmy doesn’t even think he’s ever _ heard _ his friend talk about someone this way, let alone use words like _ perfec _ t and _ special, _ as though the other person had hung both the moon and the stars.

“That’s really great, Sersh,” Timmy says, voice fond. “I mean it.” The blonde beams back at him, unable to hide the excitement on her face.  
  
And Timmy _ does _ mean it, wants nothing more than for her to be happy. But with that being said, it’s still a little difficult to ignore the slight pang of jealousy that he feels at his friend’s words. Can’t help but ache for the same, wishing that he had someone to speak so fondly about...or someone to speak so fondly about _ him. _ The last few years have been pretty rough, if he’s being honest. It just seems that Timmy’s never one to have the best luck with guys, always somehow choosing the wrong one in the end.

And _ yeah, _ he not stupid, Timmy notices the irony there when he thinks back to the events of Saturday night. But he likes to think it had been a little different this time. This time, Timmy hadn’t expected anything more from Armie, had already _ known _ completely well what kind of guy the football star was. He had just had a minor lapse in judgement, is all.

"So... when do I get to meet her?” He asks then, leaning over to steal a pepperoni off of her pizza slice. He chuckles when Saoirse bats his hands away but fails, popping it into his mouth.

“Oh my god, Tim,” She’s rolling her eyes, pulling her plate closer to her to escape his thieving fingers. “You said you didn’t want pizza. Eat your own shit.” Timmy just grins, rests his chin in his palm, stabs at his noodles.

“I didn’t,” he replies simply, letting out a dramatic sigh, “But now i want _ your _ pizza. There’s a big difference.” He bats his eyes up at her, sticking out his bottom lip innocently. Saoirse just snorts, rolling her eyes again.

“You know what, you’re lucky I’m in a good mood cause of Ana,” Saoirse chuckles, “And that you’re kind of cute when you’re hungry.” She grabs her slice of pizza and holds it out to him in offering, letting Timmy lean forward and take a large bite. He chews happily, pleased with himself, offers her a smug grin. “And I dunno,” she continues, “I don’t wanna rush it too much. Maybe in a few months?” Timmy stills, smile quickly falling from his lips.

“A few _ months? _ ” Timmy asks, face twisting incredulously. “What the _ hell? _ You’re going to ditch me for this girl for another few _ months _ before you even let me meet her?” He’s pointing his fork at her in accusation and Saoirse’s brows pull together. She just grabs at the utensil, pulling it from his grasp and away from her face.

“You’re such a brat, Tim,” Saoirse sighs, laughing. But Timmy doesn’t join in, just frowns instead. “I’m not ditching you. It’s something called _ dating.” _And that makes Timmy huff, eyes narrowing as he swipes his fork back from her grasp and jabs at his food again, this time with more aggression. 

For some reason, Timmy actually feels his heart drop a little at the comment. He knows that Sersh doesn’t mean anything by it, that she’s only joking. But today, it just seems to dig a bit deeper, hit a little too close to home. Saoirse has always been the strong one out of the two of them, the friend who always seemed to know how to deal with love and partners without getting her heart trampled all over. And Timmy, well...he was quite the opposite. He usually needed Sersh there to help him pick up the pieces in the end.

“_S_ome of us aren’t lucky enough to be skipping off into the sunset with our new Bae, _ you know,” _ he retorts and it comes out bitter, harsher than Timmy expects. He rubs a hand over his face, ugh, _what is wrong with him? _When he continues, he makes sure that he speaks softer, body sagging forward in defeat. “It’s just. I’m your _ best friend, _ Sersh. Best friends usually meet each other's girlfriends.” He shrugs sadly and a few moments pass by before Saoirse responds, seeming to sense his genuine disappointment.

“Timmy, relax,” she tells him affectionately. She reaches out to poke at his nose but Timmy pulls back and that makes the girl frown. “Tim, really? You _ are _ my best friend, you know that.”  
  
Timmy shrugs again and looks down, suddenly feeling pretty stupid. But Saoirse is practically his sister and for some reason, the thought of her wanting to keep any part of her life separate from him hurts. And...that's _totally_ different than Timmy choosing not to disclose his own weekend events to her. Because Armie wasn't anything to Timmy, wasn't part of his life. It was just some stupid encounter that had happened on a drunken night which he had instantly regretted. There was nothing even to tell. Yup. 

“You’re the first one that she’ll meet, I _ promise,_” the girl continues. “I just want to take it slow, you know? Don’t wanna jinx anything.” Timmy doesn’t reply, just continue to twist his ramen round his fork, still sulking. Saoirse sighs again. “And then I _ promise, _ I’ll make sure that she meets my funny, adorable, _ overly possessive _best friend...whom I love dearly.”  
  
And although he tries, Timmy can’t seem to stop the small quirk of his lips, lays a hand over his mouth to try and hide his growing smile. When he looks up, he sees that Saoirse actually looks pretty worried, at a loss, and Timmy instantly feels guilty. Feels like a dick.

“I know,” Timmy sighs then, offering her a soft smile of apology, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “I’m Sorry. I’m just...having a weird day. Being a baby.” When Saoirse grabs his hand in return, Timmy can’t help himself, “And you forgot about beautiful. And sexy. And talented.”  
  
Saoirse’s frown instantly lifts.

“Such an Idiot.”

~~~~

Once the two of them had finished eating (with Timmy successfully stealing at least half of Saoirse’s third slice), they make their way out of the college centre and wait by the doors for Ansel to head over to their Improv class. They’re only standing there for a few minutes before the other boy shows up, and when he does, he seems to be buzzing with energy, hands restless by his sides as if he can’t stand to be still. 

“Hey man,” Timmy says, glancing at him, noticing that Ansel’s smiling wide, so big that it looks like his face may actually split. “Um...what’s going on with your face?” He chuckles and Ansel’s immediately digging into his pocket, pulling out his phone, and scrolling through it hastily. Eventually, he stops, holding the screen up for Timmy to see.

“I have a date tonight,” Ansel says, his grin spreading wider, if that’s even possible. “With _ Violetta. _ I actually fucking asked her, man.” Timmy feels his own eyes widen in response.

“Wait. _ Seriously? _” He reaches out quickly, snatching Ansel’s phone from his grasp, eyes quickly scanning the conversation between the two of them. “Holy shit,” he breathes, and when he looks up, Ansel is nodding.

“I know, right? We hit it off pretty well on Saturday, so, I just went for it,” Ansel tells him.  
  
And Timmy thinks back to when he had texted Ansel before leaving the party on Saturday. After leaving the room upstairs in a rush, Timmy had made his way down down to the kitchen and had spotted his friend with the petite brunette, watched as the pair had been laughing and standing closer than usual from across the room. It had seemed like they were hitting it off, and being in a pretty rough mood at that point himself, Timmy had decided not to interrupt and leave the party on his own. He had sent Ansel a quick "_heading out _text" and a _"g__ood luck" _before calling his uber.

“That’s fucking _ awesome, _ man,” Timmy says now, passing the phone to Saoirse so that she can read as well. “You asked her today?”

_"Yeah,” _ Ansel continues. “I just figured, what the hell? I’ve gotta do it eventually.” Timmy grabs at Ansel’s shoulder with his free hand, squeezes, beams at him.  
  
“Good for you, man,” Timmy says and Saoirse squeaks in delight, adds something about how smooth Ansel had been when asking. As they start they journey to class, Timmy can’t help but laugh, shaking his head.  
  
“Wow,” he says, running a hand through his hair. “So _ both _ of you got coupled up on the same weekend. And here I am,” he jokes, “forever alone.” Saoirse lets her head drop against his shoulder as they walk, arm encircling his waist. She laughs.   
  
“Uh, that’s not what it seems like to _ me, _ ” Ansel tells him, smirking. “Sabrina told me that she saw you with _ Armie Hammer. _ What the hell happened with that?” Timmy’s eyes widen, body instantly going rigid. He feels Saoirse lift her head, can almost feel her gaze burning into the side of his face.  
  
“What?” Timmy asks, nervous. “No I wasn’t.” He shoots Ansel a look that’s basically trying to say _ please please please stop talking. _ But the other boy doesn’t seem to understand, face scrunching in confusion.  
  
“Uh, _yeah_ you were?” Ansel just says, staring at Timmy strangely. “Sabrina said you guys went up to a _ room _ together.” Ugh. Jesus Christ. Timmy just rubs a hand down his face, doesn’t dare turn to look at his blonde friend.  
  
“Seriously?” Saoirse says from beside him, unamused. “Timmy, the fuck?” The curly haired boy turns to glare at Ansel again, eyes shooting daggers.  
  
Ansel seems even more confused when he then asks, “Am I missing something?”  
  
“Yeah you are,” Saoirse says, voice laced with disapproval. “And apparently I am too. Timmy, I leave you alone for one weekend, and this is what happens? We talked about this." Timmy groans, rolling his eyes.  
  
“Thanks, man,” he mutters, stuffing his hands into his pockets.  
  
Ansel holds his hands up in defense, “How the hell was I supposed to know?”   
  
“Timmy,” Saoirse says again and when he turns to face her, she’s got her arms crossed and her eyebrow raised.  
  
“Nothing happened!” Timmy says quickly. “I didn’t even know he was going to be there. I only went cause Ansel begged me to go,” He lies and at this, Ansel cocks his head, nodding in agreement.  
  
“That’s true. I did ask him like, 50 times to come with me,” Ansel tells her, shrugging. It doesn’t wipe the scowl off of her face, though.  
  
“I just bumped into him there,” Timmy continues, defensively. “And he wanted to talk about our econ project together, that’s all.” Saoirse scoffs. But Timmy is thankful that she seems to gloss over that fact, too distracted to question why they were working together in the first place.  
  
“Yeah, he brought you up to a _bedroom_ to talk about _school._ Sure, Tim," she says. Timmy blushes, knows that she sees right through him.  
  
_ “Okay,” _ he breathes, “It wasn’t just that. But I swear...nothing happened. He definitely tried...but I just left.” When Saoirse just continues to look at him he sighs, “Honestly.”  
  
And as though the guy himself was somehow listening in, Timmy's phone suddenly buzzes with a new message. Glancing down, Timmy can't help but roll his eyes when he sees who it is and reads it. He feels his heart jump a little and feels instantly annoyed. Both at Armie and his own fucking pulse.  
  
When Timmy had received Armie’s previous message on Sunday, he had also been annoyed, knowing completely well that Armie wasn't actually upset that he had left. From what Timmy had witnessed, it was obvious that Armie already had an ideal roster of quick hook ups lined up for the night. So, Timmy wasn’t dumb enough to think that his absence had actually been missed. Knew that Armie was probably just trying to smooth things over and set things up for another time, for a different weekend when all of his regulars were busy.   
  
But it's not like Timmy _cared_ _ . _ He definitely didn't care that Armie was talking to and fucking a bunch of different people. Why would he? Timmy had chosen not to reply yesterday simply because he just didn’t have anything to say back, that was all. _Yeah._ Nothing more than that.  
  
And as if to prove a point, maybe to himself more than anything, Timmy doesn’t hesitate as he types up a response.  
  
**Timmy: Not ignoring you. Don’t flatter yourself. **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooohhhh. burn.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo. Here's the next chapter! December was crazy busy and I was having a little bit of writer's block trying to get this story where I want it to go. Thanks for those of you who have waited patiently, and to those of you who urged me to get this update out! 
> 
> This isn't my favourite chapter. I have so many future chapters already planned and can't wait to get there.

“Let me give you a lift,” Paul tells him as the two of them make their way out of the auditorium. “It’s freezing outside today and you’re going to be late if you take the bus.” He places a hand on the back of Timmy’s upper shoulders, already attempting to steer him in the direction of his car once they have stepped into the school parking lot.

“That’s nice of you, man,” Timmy replies, peeking up at Paul through wind tousled curls. He digs into the pocket of his bomber jacket, pulling out a pair of mittens and a hat. He holds them up for the older man to see. “But I’m prepared, see?” He grins at him as he ceases their stride, a few feet away from Paul’s car. “And I'm sure you have shit to do, don’t worry about me.” Paul’s grip only tightens on his shoulder.

“Bullshit, I literally have nowhere to be and nothing to do,” Paul tells him, kind smile painted on his face. “And it’s my fault if you’re late for class. I didn’t even realize the time when I called for another scene.” He reaches for Timmy’s hand then, clutching at the hat and easing it from his grasp. Smirking, Paul quickly lifts the hat and pulls it snugly atop of Timmy’s head, low enough that the edge of it completely cover his eyes. “You should still wear this though, it _ is _cold."

Laughing, Timmy pushes the base of the hat up so that he can see again, glaring at Paul playfully when he sees the man’s smirk. “It’s not even November yet, dude. _ Relax.” _ Then, Timmy glances back over his shoulder, in the direction of the bus stop across the street. He has about another 15 minutes or so before the next bus arrives, having missed his typical one since rehearsal ran over time. And at this rate, he’s going to miss at least the first half of Econ. Biting at his lip, hesitant, he turns back to face Paul.

“You sure you don’t mind?” He asks Paul, unsure, rocking forward on his heels. Paul just rolls his eyes at him.

“Just get in the car, Tim,” He replies simply, giving Timmy a gentle nudge on the back to get him walking again, already leading the way.

“Wow, bossy."  
  
~~~~  
  
Although Timmy tries to convince him otherwise, Paul insists on driving him as close as physically possible to his lecture hall.  
  
“Oh my god, literally drop me off anywhere around here,” Timmy says, beginning to feel even more like an inconvenience with each second that passes. “It’s only a 5 minute walk from here, seriously.” He’s pointing out the window, at one of the nearby residences. He’s not lying, he would only have a quick walk to class from here but Paul remains stubborn, ignoring Timmy’s protests.  
  
“You really don’t make doing you a favour easy, you know that?” Paul jokes, glancing over at Timmy when they hit a red light.  
  
“I just don’t want to waste your time,” Timmy shrugs innocently, rolling his eyes. “So just drop me off _ here. _ It’s fine.” Paul is still looking at him, smiling softly. There’s a strange expression on his face and Timmy suddenly feels self conscious, feels his cheeks heat a little. Laughing to cover his nerves he manages a small, “What?” Paul doesn’t reply right away though, just chuckles himself, and then a honk can be heard from behind them. Timmy finally breaks their gaze, startled, looking forward to notice that the light is green and that they’ve been holding up the traffic.  
  
Paul is focusing on the road again, shrugging his shoulders casually when he says, “Nothing. Just trying to figure out why you think that way.”  
  
“Think what way?” Timmy asks, curious, brows pulled in confusion. He pulls the hat off of his head and shakes out his curls. When he’s pushed them back from his face he finds that Paul is glancing at him again, only briefly, before averting his gaze forward once more.  
  
“That I don’t like spending time with you,” he says, matter of fact. And before Timmy can even formulate a proper response, completely caught off guard, Paul is changing the subject. “Okay, so _ tell me. _ Which way?”  
  
Timmy sighs, sinking deeper into the seat, defeated. He begins to direct Paul in the direction of his lecture hall, navigating them to a small parking lot near the side of the building and when they arrive, pulling into a parking spot near the front, Timmy realizes that he is actually early for class. Just like usual.  
  
“Thanks for this,” Timmy says, unbuckling his belt and turning in his seat to face him. “For doing me a _ favour.” _ Timmy smirks, poking fun at Paul’s earlier comment and shoves the man’s shoulder.  
  
“No problem, anytime,” Paul says and he reaches over, pushing a few stray hairs back and away from Timmy’s face. “Hats do not work with your curls, huh?” He laughs and continues to pat them down.  
  
“Maybe I like the disheveled rockstar look,” Timmy retorts, smirking. “You know, like Harry Styles or something.”  
  
“Maybe I do too.” Paul is smirking back at him, brown eyes warm, playful. He’s looking at him again, with that same fond smile like he was earlier, and once again, Timmy finds his cheeks warming, at a loss of what to say. Instead, he glances down at his phone, noticing the time.  
  
“I um. I better go,” He tells Paul and the man nods. “Thanks again for the ride,” He says as he swings open the door, climbing out.  
  
“I’ll see you on Thursday then, _ rockstar, _ ” Paul replies, laughing again as Timmy shuts the door, flipping him off through the window.   
  
Timmy can’t stop the wide smile that spreads across his face as he backs away. And when he turns around, heading for class, he’s only taken a few steps before he’s craning his neck to look back over his shoulder, offering Paul a small wave. Still walking, Timmy continues to watch behind him as Paul backs up and pulls away. Suddenly, Timmy is colliding with someone. The force of it has him tripping over his feet a little, stumbling forward, phone slipping from his grasp and hitting the pavement.  
  
“_Shit, _ my bad,” Timmy begins, head whipping around, apology on the tip of his tongue. But then he’s met with blue eyes, tan skin, and a wide, pleased smirk. Timmy stills, face instantly on fire. _ Really? _ He had been determined to have the upper hand today. Had already thought through how this class would go. Now, he finds himself gaping at the taller boy, stunned. He’s hit with a wave of dejavu, encounter eerily similar to the weekend.  
  
“No worries,” Armie says cooly. “That your boyfriend?” Armie asks him then and when Timmy doesn’t answer, he nods in the direction of where Paul had just recently been parked. That has Timmy snapping out of it, scrunching his face in confusion.  
  
“Uh what?” _ No? _ ” He bends down to retrieve his phone, relieved when he finds minimal damage. When he stands back up, Armie crosses his arms across his chest.  
  
“So you two just fucking, then?”  
  
Timmy’s eyes go wide and he falters for a moment. He wills the blush to rid from his face as Armie just continues to smirk down at him, eyebrow raised in question.  
  
Stuffing his phone into his pocket, Timmy finally manages to choke out, “_No _ . What the hell?” He steps around him then and begins to make his way toward the lecture hall. He can feel Armie falling into stride beside him.  
  
“Okay, _ sure, _ ” Armie scoffs and when Timmy glances over he sees that Armie is rolling his eyes, clearly unconvinced.  
  
“We’re _ not. _ We work together. _ Jesus. _ ”  
  
Armie rolls his eyes again, laughing, “Okay, well he definitely wants in your pants. It’s obvious.”  
  
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Timmy spits, defensive. And he’s not even sure over what. When they reach the front doors, Armie pushes it open, letting Timmy slip in before him. Timmy bites at his lip, doesn’t say thank you.  
  
“He was practically eye fucking you in the front seat,” Armie continues and this time, it’s Timmy’s turn to scoff.  
  
“So, what? You were just like, watching us? Creepy much?” He shoots Armie an annoyed glance, expression pinched, as they make their way up the stairs of the hall. When Timmy stops at his typical row, part of him is really hoping that Armie will continue to climb, to leave him in peace. But of course, Armie follows him, falling easily into the seat next to Timmy and leaning back in it arrogantly. Too relaxed and confident. It's kind of pissing Timmy off.  
  
“Well, you two were all over each other,” he replies. “Kind of hard not to notice.” Timmy chooses to ignore him, instead just opting to pull his books and laptop out of his bag. After a few moments of tense silence, Armie speaks up, “So...still mad at me, huh?” That has Timmy close to rolling his eyes but instead, he remains silent, pulling up the lecture slides on his computer in preparation for class. A few moments pass and then Armie is reaching over, closing the screen of Timmy’s laptop to get his attention.  
  
Timmy turns to him, eyes stern, “I’m not mad at you. Why _would_ I be?”  
  
Leaning forward, Armie rests his elbows on his knees, invading Timmy’s personal space and Timmy tries to ignore that he smells pretty fucking good. It's inconvenient. “You seem pretty mad. You just left on Saturday and then ignored my text.” Timmy huffs.  
  
“I already told you. I wasn’t ignoring you.” Timmy knows that he doesn't sound convincing but he glares anyway. Crosses his arms over his chest.  
  
Armie cocks his head to the side, disbelief clearly painting his face. “So then why didn’t you reply?” He’s staring at Timmy intently, blue eyes piecing into his own. It takes everything Timmy has to hold his gaze, to not crack under the pressure and let Armie make him falter.  
  
“I’m not like you,” Timmy says simply, shrugging. “Saturday was a mistake.”  
  
Armie hisses loudly then, clutching at his chest dramatically. “Ouch. Right in the heart there, Timmy.”   
  
The smaller boy can’t help it, feels his lips quirk slightly on their own at Armie’s reaction, amused. He turns back to his laptop to hide it, lifting the screen again and beginning to scroll. It’s already past 2:30 and the lecture hall is pretty much full. The prof must be running late, and of course of all days, it had to be today. Timmy bounces his knee restlessly, silently praying that class begins soon because he wants nothing more than for this conversation to end before he makes a fool of himself.  
  
“Come on,” Armie says then, leaning even closer. “Let me make it up to you. Come to my place this weekend.” He has his hand on Timmy’s thigh now, just resting, but his touch feels scalding hot. Timmy can feel himself flush and he swallows. "It'll be fun."  
  
“I don’t - I don’t do _ that, _ ” Timmy stammers, eyes fixed forward.  
  
“What? Have sex?” Armie questions, unashamed. His voice is laced with amusement, taunting, and Timmy takes the bait, unable to stop himself from turning to scowl at him.  
  
“_No, _ ” Timmy breathes and he pulls his leg away, letting Armie’s hand drop. “I do... _ that. _ Just not with. Not with, _ you know... _ ” He waves his hand haphazardly, flustered. _Fuck._ He’s already letting Armie get to him again and he’s sure that the other boy can tell.  
  
“You don’t sleep around?” Armie laughs and Timmy wants to die. “You a _boyfriends_ kind of guy?”  
  
“Yeah,” Timmy says, sticking his chin out defiantly, willing his voice to remain steady. “I’m not like _you._”  
  
“Not like me? Jesus, you make me sound like a monster,” Armie retorts, snorting. “They don’t just get nothing in return. Sex is a _mutual_ thing, you know."  
  
"I _know_ that," Timmy huffs.  
  
"Well then, what's the problem?"  
  
Timmy shrugs, "Nothing."  
  
"Well, they do enjoy it, _just so you know," _Armie continues. "I mean, if their screams are anything to go by.” Timmy's jaw drops open at that, entire body heating hot red and Armie is practically beaming at him, clearly enjoying catching Timmy off guard. And honestly, Timmy can’t really help it, can’t help but suddenly picture Armie, broad and lean atop of him, fucking him so hard that Timmy can't hold back the noises that tumble from his lips. His palms suddenly feel sweaty and he rubs them against the sides of his legs, flustered. And as if Armie can read his mind, he adds, “And I’m sure _you_ would, too.”  
  
Timmy sputters, whipping his head back and forth, hyper aware of the proximity of the other students around them. When he turns back to Armie, he’s leaning forward, whispering frantically, “Oh my god, please _ shut up.” _ Armie actually laughs then, genuine smile breaking across his face.  
  
“You’re pretty cute when you’re embarrassed,” He teases, eyes slowly travelling up and down the expanse of Timmy’s slim frame. “I like the way you blush.” And as if his own body is actively trying to betray him, Timmy can feel himself heat even more. He groans, rubbing a hand over his face.  
  
“I’m not embarrassed, shut up,” Is all he can manage to reply. A blatant lie. But thankfully, just then, the prof walks in, apologizing for being late. Timmy sinks down into his seat, relief flooding him, thankful for a distraction and a reason to actively ignore anymore conversation about Armie making people _scream. _  
  
“This project is going to be fun,” Armie says after a few minutes, leaning over to whisper it against the shell of the smaller boy's ear. The sensation has his skin blooming with goose bumps and Timmy stills. _Shit,_ he forgot about the project. He's just about to tell Armie that he's changed his mind, that being partners isn't going to work when the other boy adds, “I already emailed the prof saying we would work together, by the way.” Timmy groans quietly, frowns when Armie simply chuckles.  
  
“Of _course_ you did.”  
  
“Come on, I’m not _that_ bad,” Armie says, feigning offence. “I promise.” Timmy doesn’t reply for a few moments, contemplating.  
  
"Right."   
  
Armie raises his hands up, defensively, “I can be good. I can be friends...and anything _else_ is up to you.” Timmy narrows his eyes, pen tapping against the table in front of him. "Pinky promise," Armie adds, shit eating grin on his face, extending his pinky towards Timmy. The smaller boy just snorts, wills himself not to laugh, not to give Armie the satisfaction. Instead, he simply pushes Armie's hand away from him, continues to tap his pen against the table.  
  
“Okay,” He mutters finally, offering Armie a wary smile. He's not sure exactly why he says it. Not sure if it's because he's trying to prove a point or if it's because despite his arrogance, Timmy can't seem to help preening under Armie's attention. He can practically hear Saoirse reprimanding him already. Armie grins in response, as if he's won something, and looks like he's about to speak but Timmy continues. “We can be friends. And _only friends. _ Just until this project is over.”  
  
Timmy kind of thinks he's already making a mistake.   
  
Armie’s leaning back in his chair again then, hands crossed behind his head. “Okay, sure. Suit yourself.”  
  
  



	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Look at me! This was quick. 
> 
> This one was fun to write. Enjoy, lovelies <3 
> 
> (I may be the most random updater in this entire fandom. Either back to back or ages apart. Oops...)

The next day is pretty fucking lousy. To start off, Armie had woken up late, sleeping through both his alarm and his bitch ass roommate (who didn’t even bother to wake him up) getting ready for practice. Consequently, Armie had been 20 minutes late and as punishment, coach had made Armie run suicides for the remainder of practice, pointedly excluding him from the typical circuits to set an example for the others. And usually, this may not have been the _ biggest _ deal. Sure, it still would have sucked, would have still really pissed him the hell off. And sure, Armie still would have shoved Greg into the lockers afterwards the moment practice wrapped, cussing him out for being a useless piece of shit. But most days, he probably would have gotten over it, would have moved on with his day and forgotten all about it by now.  
  
But as his luck goes, when Armie emerged from the locker room, he had noticed 3 missed calls from his mom, another from his uncle, and when he finally mustered up the courage to actually listen to his voice messages, he was practically seething with frustration. Although it wasn’t out of the ordinary, already used to hearing his mom’s teary voice on the other end of these recordings, explaining how his dad was having another rough day (or week or month), that things just weren’t so great at home and asking him when he was planning to come back for a visit...today it just...today it just really fucking stung. And Armie couldn’t even bring himself to call her back, had just stuffed his phone into his back pocket, eyes burning red and added _ being a shitty son _ to his growing list of reasons for why today fucking sucked so much.  
  
And that’s how Armie finds himself currently, with the hood of his sweater pulled up in the middle of class, slouching miserably in his seat, barely even listening as the prof rambles on at the front of the room during his marketing lecture. He’s itching for a distraction. And when Liz finally messages back a few minutes into class, telling him that she’s busy tonight and asking for a rain check, Armie doesn’t waste anymore time. He’s pulling up Timmy’s text thread, firing off a message. This will have to do. 

**Armie: Hey, ** ** _friend. _ ** **Wanna meet up today to work on the assignment?**

Despite his foul mood, Armie finds that he’s smirking to himself, knows that he’s probably getting under the kid’s skin already with his jab. He can practically picture Timmy rolling his eyes when opening his text, irritation written across his face. But honestly, Armie can’t seem to help it. If Timmy wants to play this game, to play pretend and be “_ friends” _ for a little while, he’s more than happy to comply. It’s not like it’s going to last very long, knows that the way he gets the younger boy blushing and stuttering each time that they’re together is only an indication of something inevitable down the road, of what’s definitely only bound to come. It only takes Timmy a few minutes to reply.

**Timmy: Sure. Library @ 5?**

Armie quickly types out his response.

**Armie: I was thinking we could go to my place. Less distractions.**

Timmy goes silent for a few minutes and Armie briefly wonders if he’s possibly pushed it a bit too far too soon, if he’s scared the kid off. He considers sending a follow up text, but then his phone is buzzing with a response, and Armie feels a little thrill shoot up his spine. When he reads it, Armie can’t help but roll his eyes, fond smirk spreading across his lips. He actually laughs a little, bad mood slightly dissipating. 

**Timmy: Yeah...Nice try. I’ll see you at the library soon, 4th floor.**

He has to hand it to him, the kid’s got some fierce restraint, that’s for sure. And although Armie would usually be more annoyed by this, for some reason, he’s kind of enjoying how things are playing out. If he’s being honest, he kind of likes the little back and forth that they have going on here, finds it kind of fun. It might have something to do with the kid’s pretty face, the way that Timmy’s skin flushes pink every time that Armie seems to say just the right things to earn him that shocked, doe like expression. Or it may just be because Armie is simply bored, getting a little tired of the quick fucks and easy hookups that he barely has to put any work in for. Yeah. That’s probably why. But either way, Armie finds himself wanting to see the kid again soon, wants to get Timmy smiling shyly and flustered again like usual.

**Armie: It was worth a shot ;) Sounds good. ** **  
**  
He presses send and drops his phone into his lap, turning his attention back to the lecture. But then he’s grinning to himself, unlocking his phone screen again, deciding to add one more thing.  
  
**Armie: See you soon, ** ** _buddy. _ ** ** _  
_ ** ** _  
_ ** Armie snorts when Timmy’s response comes in, a single middle finger emoji. **  
** **  
** “Dude, I’m fucking _ talking _ to you.”  
  
Armie blinks, looking up from his phone and turning to face Nick who’s sitting beside him. His friend appears annoyed, eyes narrowed.  
  
“Oh sorry, what?”  
  
Nick just scoffs, shaking his head, “Nevermind. Who you talking to anyway? You’re completely out of it today.” Armie shrugs in return, runs a hand through his hair and flips his phone over on the desk in front of him.  
  
“No one you know,” He says simply, turning his gaze back to the front of the room.  
  
He’s not really sure why he lies. 

  
~~~  
  
When Armie reaches the 4th floor later that day, he spots Timmy almost immediately. He’s pretty hard to miss to be honest, with his mop of curls falling into his face and gangly long limbs bent over the table in front of him. He’s got a sharp prettiness to him, something hard yet delicate that has Timmy sticking out amongst the crowd easily.  
  
Sauntering over, Armie drops his bag obnoxiously onto the table, making the kid jump. “Hey,” Armie greets him, taking the seat across from Timmy. The smaller boy looks up at him, curls still hiding his eyes a little, small smirk on his lips.   
  
“_Wow,_” Timmy taunts. “I’m surprised you actually found your way. You ever even been here before?” His eyes are playful and Armie lifts his brow in surprise, amused. Leaning forward, Armie casually rests his chin in the palm of his hand.  
  
“Haha, very funny,” he responds, sarcastic. “I’ve been to the cafeteria here _ plenty of times, _ best mac and cheese on campus.” And Timmy actually lets out a small laugh at that, delighted, before turning his notebook around for Armie to see. For some reason, the sound makes Armie grin, feels himself beam a little. He kind of likes the way Timmy is smiling up at him.  
  
“So, I’ve been working on an outline,” Timmy tells him then, pen hitting the paper as he speaks, tone authoritative. “You know, kind of like a schedule for us to stay on track.” Armie can’t help but let out his own his own laugh at that, reaching forward to pull the notebook towards himself, to get a closer look.  
  
“And why am I not surprised?” Armie says, teasing, eyes scanning the sheet in front of him. It’s detailed as fuck. And by the looks of it, Timmy has already delegated Armie some actual tasks. Shit, so he’s actually going to have to work for this, huh?  
  
“It’s worth like, 40 percent of our grade,” Timmy huffs, rolling his eyes and pulling the notebook back. “We need to be organized. Especially because it’s due around the same time as finals.”  
  
Armie nods lazily in response, only half listening as Timmy chatters on about what needs to be done and by when, eyes instead fixated on the kid’s red little mouth. He can’t help but notice the way that Timmy’s tongue keeps darting out to wet his lips as he rambles, fingers of his free hand twisting absently at the base of his loose curls. Suddenly, Armie is struck with the overwhelming desire to get closer. Without missing a beat, Armie stands up and makes his way to the other side of the table, dropping into the seat next to Timmy. That has Timmy pausing then, neck turning to glance at him in confusion. Armie shuffles his chair closer, close enough that the side of his leg is pressed up against Timmy’s and the boy coughs, that familiar colour of pink creeping up the back of his neck.   
  
“Go on,” Armie says, grinning obnoxiously. He watches Timmy’s eyes fall to where their legs are pressed together and the kid is quiet for a few more seconds.   
  
But thenTimmy is clearing his throat, turning his gaze back to the notes in front of him, clearly trying his best not to let Armie distract him. He goes on and on about the outline of their report and their visual component, rifling off different ideas and explaining why each scenario could possibly work. Armie desperately tries not to roll his eyes, bored out of his mind. And when Timmy finally wraps up his explanation, Armie can’t help himself from poking fun.  
  
“That sounds great and all. But, you know…” Armie says. “We could also just hang out instead and hammer out the assignment a few days before the deadline.” The look Timmy gives him then is incredulous, mouth hanging open and eyes wide as if he’s been burned.  
  
“Absolutely not. I’m not letting you fuck up my average.”  
  
Armie sighs, leaning back in his seat, lets his eyes linger on the kid’s offended expression. “I’m just kidding, chill out,” He says then, chuckling. “But to be honest, I’m a little confused. Why do you even _ care _ so much if this is only your elective? _ I’m _ the one majoring in business here.” Timmy sighs then, rubbing the heels of his palms over his eyes. When he turns to Armie, he suddenly looks drained, exasperated.  
  
“To be honest, I don’t really care,” Timmy tells him, irritation blatant in his tone. “If it were up to me, I wouldn’t even be taking this stupid course.” That catches Armie’s by surprise, has him sitting up.  
  
“Oh?” He prompts and Timmy exhales sharply again, begins tapping his fingers against the material of his knee. Armie’s realized that he does this when he’s nervous, as if he just can’t stand to be still.  
  
“Yeah. It’s my dad,” Timmy says, averting his gaze, mouth twisted sourly. “He thinks that my acting is a complete joke. Only lets me major in it if I take some _ “real” _ classes.” Timmy’s face is hard as he says so, adding finger quotations around the word “real” and Armie is surprised to see that the kid’s expression is stone cold. Colder than Armie’s ever seen it before. Clearly, Armie has hit some sort of nerve and he actually feels kind of bad.  
  
“Oh,” Armie replies, a little awkwardly. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to like, pry -”  
  
“No, no. You didn’t,” Timmy cuts him off, turning back to look at him, shrugging. “Basically everyone knows that my dad and I don’t get along. It’s whatever.” Armie eyes him for a few moments, contemplating.  
  
“Kind of weird, though. You’re always with him at school shit and stuff.”  
  
The smaller boy barks out a laugh in response, though when he speaks he sounds anything _ but _ amused. “Yeah, I’m just expected to be there. You know, politics and appearances and all that crap.”  
  
“So you’re saying you didn’t come to the game just to cheer me on?” Armie asks him then, trying to lighten the mood a little. He feels a little strange, finds his gloomy mood creeping back in as he watches the smaller boy. Finds that he doesn’t really like the way Timmy’s face crumples at the mention of his father. He provides the boy with a small smirk and is pleased when he sees Timmy’s mouth curve into a slight smile in return.  
  
“Unfortunately not,” Timmy replies with a small laugh. “Just one of my many _ wonderful _ duties as the Dean’s son.” Pushing back his curls, Timmy rolls his eyes. “He hasn’t missed a goddam game in years, but he hasn’t been to one of my shows since I was like, I dunno, 12?” The way that Timmy says it sounds so nonchalant, defeated. Armie frowns.  
  
“Well that’s pretty fucked up.”  
  
“Yup,” Timmy says, popping his p and clicking his tongue. And then, as if as switch has gone off, he’s suddenly smiling, blanketing his bitterness with a mask of laughter. “Sorry. I’m kind of ranting. Please tell me to shut the hell up.”  
  
“It’s no problem,” Armie responds, shaking his head. And he means it. “Your dad sounds like a total asshole.” When Timmy looks at him then, he’s smiling shyly. Armie notices that he seems a little lighter though, grateful even? “But uh, never tell him I said that. I _really_ need to keep my scholarship,” Armie laughs.  
  
“Oh don’t worry,” Timmy chuckles. “Even if I did, he would still love you. The successful jock who can pass as completely straight? Yeah, my dad’s _dream_ child.” The smaller boy lets out another bitter laugh at this but Armie doesn’t join in, can sense the wounded truth behind Timmy’s fake smile.  
  
“I wouldn’t say that. I’ve got my faults.”  
  
Timmy raises his brow at him, smirking. He's playful when he responds, “_Obviously. _ I never said you didn’t.” But before Armie can reply, to respond with his own mocking dig, Timmy is glancing down at his phone, eyes suddenly bright.  
  
“Oh, shiiiitttt,” Timmy breathes, body practically humming with excitement, previous conversation apparently forgotten. He’s instantly plugging in his earphones into his phone, popping one into his right ear with a wide smile that shows all of his teeth.  
  
“What?” Armie questions, taken aback by the kid's change in demeanour. Timmy shakes his head, chuckling.  
  
“Nothing. Nothing,” he replies, not glancing up from his phone screen. “My friend just sent me the new Star Wars trailer and it looks fucking _ sick.” _ _  
_ _  
_ Armie perks up, instantly leaning over to get a glimpse. “Oh yeah? Rise of Skywalker? I can’t wait for that.” Timmy’s eyes shoot up to meet his own then, surprise evident on his face. Pausing the video on his screen, Timmy pulls out his earbud.  
  
“Wait, what?” He questions, face pulled in disbelief. _ “You’re _ a Star Wars fan?” The way he says it sounds like it’s the furthest thing from what he could have expected. As though Armie is just fucking with him.  
  
Armie scoffs, “Um, yeah? Why is that so surprising?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Timmy says, eyes narrow. He waves a hand around between them, gesturing to Armie. “Cause you’re like…. _ you? _ ”  
  
“Descriptive.”  
  
Timmy laughs, eyes crinkling. “Sorry, just,” he stops. “I don’t know. You just don’t seem like the type.” Armie doesn’t respond, just shrugs his shoulders and Timmy continues, “So have you been keeping up with The Mandalorian, then?”  
  
“Obviously,” Armie replies, folding his arms across his chest. “I hack into my friend’s Disney Plus account just for that.” Timmy giggles at that, a small little wheeze escaping his lips. And Armie bites at his bottom lip, tries to stop the smile that threatens to spread across his own at the sound. It’s endearing, the way the kid’s eyes scrunch up as chokes on his own breath. Why the fuck is that so endearing?  
  
“I’ve got my own,” Timmy tells him. “Disney is fucking classic. You can borrow mine if you ever need it.” Timmy’s still smiling at him, his face bright and eyes round like he’s actually his own goddam Disney character. Armie suddenly feels strange. He swallows, looking away.  
  
“Uh, cool,” He says. “Thanks.”  
  
~~~~  
  
Later that day, Armie meets up with his buddies at their typical burger joint, the one just down the road from Armie and Greg’s apartment. It's been a long day and Armie is more than happy to be stuffing his face, has decided to order himself two massive burgers the size of his head. And although he's still fretting over his mom's phone call, still feeling pretty shitty overall, he must admit, things did take a slight turn for the better this afternoon. He doesn't focus too hard on why, though. That part isn't important.   
  
“Man,” Nick laughs, shaking his head. “You should have fucking been there, Armie. The look on Greg’s face was priceless.”  
  
“You guys are dicks,” Greg spits back before stuffing a handful of fries into his mouth. Armie chuckles, takes a swig from his milkshake.  
  
“Sorry guys,” He says simply. “I was busy today. Making my way even closer to an extra 200 bucks.”  
  
“Yeah?” Kevin pipes up then. “You were with the kid?” Armie nods around another sip, then places the glass down in front of him.  
  
“Yeah, and honestly...this couldn’t be any _easier._ Get ready to pay up.” He shoots Greg a smug grin, leaning forward to swipe a few of the guy’s fries.  
  
“Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it,” Greg just huffs. “Proof or it didn’t happen.”  
  
“Whatever,” Armie shrugs, pulling his phone out of his varsity jacket when he feels it buzz. There’s an alert on his screen from snap chat, a new friend request. _ LilTimmyC. _ Armie’s mouth quirks in a smile at the screen name. Such a dork.  
  
“Speaking of which,” Armie says, lifting his phone for the others to see.  
  
“_Dude,” _ Nick laughs. “If he’s sending you dick pics, please don’t fucking show me.”  
  
Armie just flips him off and doesn’t hesitate to press accept to Timmy’s request. It’s only a few minutes later that his phone buzzes again, this time with a new snap from the other boy. When Armie opens it, he’s met with a dark lit picture of a computer screen atop of thin, long legs. Armie can make out that Timmy is watching The Mandalorian. It’s captioned _ “Baby Yoda so cute.” _ _  
_ _  
_ Armie chuckles, swipes so that he can reply. _ “Agreed. Kind of reminds me of you,” _ he sends back.  
  
Almost instantly, Armie’s receives another snap. This time, it’s one of Timmy’s face. He’s got his head resting back on a pillow, curls pushed up messily around his face, grinning widely into the screen playfully. He’s also got a peace sign thrown up next to his cheek. _ “Baby Yoda’s got nothing on me,” _ it says and Armie pauses, breath caught, holding his thumb on the screen. He stares down at the image until the snap expires, noticing the way that the glare of Timmy’s computer screen makes his green eyes even brighter than usual. For some strange reason, Armie feels his stomach flip a little. Um, the fuck?  
  
Licking at his lips, Armie holds his thumb down on the icon again, replaying the snap out of curiosity. Again, he feels his stomach drop a bit when Timmy’s face appears.   
  
Armie rubs a rough hand over his face, suddenly wishing his milkshake was a nice cold beer instead.  
  
"So?" Greg prompts, breaking Armie from thought, smirking at him. Armie rolls his eyes.   
  
"It was nothing, you pervert," he shoots back. "Just some netflix stuff."   
  
"Lame."  
  
Armie doesn't reply though. Instead, he's staring down at his phone, brows pulled tight together.  
  
After a few moments he sighs, discarding his phone on the empty seat beside him. He doesn't have time for this shit.   
  
He leaves Timmy on read. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> baby yoda so cute
> 
> https://www.google.com/search?tbm=isch&sxsrf=ACYBGNQK0NK5AsjA6pUze4-mCnIlx8GSsg%3A1577679774230&sa=1&ei=nnsJXtPDDcrOtAa3zYa4DA&q=baby+yoda+gif&oq=baby+yoda+gif&gs_l=img.3..0l10.6498.6999..7152...0.0..0.68.385.6......0....1..gws-wiz-img.......35i39.9-JIx67IRJU&ved=0ahUKEwjTioyUw9zmAhVKJ80KHbemAccQ4dUDCAc&uact=5#imgrc=y0kS5TjBobxB0M:


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all of your comments!! I really appreciate all of you who are on this journey with me <33 xoxo

“Oh my god. _ Look, _ ” Timmy breathes out in excitement, hands instantly darting forward to grab at the pair of black pleather leggings hanging on the wrack in front of them.  
  
They had been at the mall for almost an entire hour now, desperately ducking in and out of every single store, on a hunt for each part of Saoirse’s outfit. It was causing Timmy more stress than he would have liked, having only a few days left to spare, the weekend quickly approaching. And quite frankly, Timmy finds the girl’s nonchalance about the matter rather appalling. He had even told her so several times, had voiced his complete and utter disappointed with how his friend could leave something _ this _ important until the very last minute. Absolutely disgraceful, if you’re asking him. 

“These are fucking _ perfect, _ Sersh, He continues and turns toward her, holding the article out in front of him to examine, wide smile spread across his lips. The blonde just laughs in response, rolling her eyes, and reaches out to take them from Timmy’s grasp. 

“They are pretty good, actually,” she says, nodding, holding them up in front of her to get a better look and eyeing them approvingly. “Would just need to find a matching belt, I think.” Timmy is nodding eagerly at that, bouncing on the balls of his feet. 

“Totally doable,” he tells her, shrugging, simply and waving a hand carelessly through the air. And then before she can even protest, Timmy’s grabbing at the girl's wrist, taking her hand into his own, and leading them toward the back of the store. “You’re going to look so fucking _ hot _ in this_, _ Sersh. I’m actually kind of jealous.” Saoirse just laughs again, shaking her head as they reach the fitting rooms. 

“Yeah, okay. As if _ you’re _ one to talk,” she jokes, turning to poke Timmy on the cheek playfully with her index finger. “You’ve had your costume planned for like...what? 2 entire _ months _ now? And you always make them perfect.” Timmy lets his mouth hang open in mock offence, clutches at his heart. 

“Um, _ nooo,” _ he replies, raising his eyebrows, indignant. “_Four _ months, actually. Please, do you not even _ know me? _ ” He’s smirking at her as he says so, knows he sounds like a little shit, and he’s already pushing her toward one of the empty rooms. “Now, go try these on because my Sandy needs to be absolutely _ smokin _ or I’ll have to find a replacement.” Rolling her eyes and offering the boy an amused smile, Saorise allows herself to get thrust through the doorway, letting Timmy pull the door shut behind her. “And you’re right,” he calls out, raising his voice to make sure that she can hear him over the store’s playlist. “I _ do _ look great in my costume.” 

“Princess.” 

  
  
  
It’s about two more hours, four more stores, and one large burrito bowl later when Timmy finally finds himself back at home in their apartment, stretched out across the couch, and lazily scrolling through his phone as he awaits for the upcoming trick or treaters. They don’t live in student housing, having chosen to live away from campus after freshman year because the accommodations near school were always way too noisy and chaotic for their liking. And therefore, Timmy’s pretty sure that quite a few kids will actually show up tonight. Based on the time, it being almost 5:30 pm or so now, that means that they should actually start coming round any minute. And Timmy hopes that they do because he has already helped himself to way too many of the swedish berries and sour patch kids sitting in the bowl only a few feet away, Saorise having set up the candy before heading out for her Wednesday night class. Consequently, Timmy had been left alone to man the fort. 

But Timmy doesn’t mind at all, has always loved this part. Growing up, he had spent his teen years helping his mom hand out candy back at home on Halloween night, having an undeniable soft spot for little kids dressed up like their favourite TV characters or animals. Finds it endearing when they look up at him with innocent delight on their faces as Timmy widens his eyes to feign surprise, telling them how _cool_ their costumes are and asking things like _“Snow white, is that really you?”_ It always earns him some pleased little giggles from the kids and appreciative smiles from the parents. And just for kicks, because he thinks that the kids may like it, Timmy had grabbed a pair of cat ears from the mall today when they had been standing in the register line at Forever21. Had figured it would be fun to dress up a little tonight as well as he handed out the treats. 

But now, as he waits for the kids to arrive, every so often glancing at himself in the reflection of his own phone screen, Timmy can’t deny the fact that he actually looks kind of good with them on. Saoirse had even told him so once he was ready. And then she had kissed him on his cheek as she passed by on her way out, had looked him over once more, has simply told him to _ be good _with an accusatory and knowing look written on her face. Timmy had just rolled his eyes at her, annoyed, knowing what she was trying to imply without even having to ask.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” Timmy had murmured, shrugging his shoulders and dropping himself onto the couch where he still finds himself now.

Because it’s not like Timmy had any_ intentions. _ He didn’t need to try To be good. It’s not like he had bought the ears in hopes of sending Armie any pictures tonight. No, of course not. He hadn’t even been thinking about the other boy when he was choosing between the black ears with lace or the white ears with sequins, trying to decide which ones would bring out the green of his eyes and the flush of his cheeks better. Definitely not. And it’s not like he _ wants _ the older boy to think he looks pretty or anything, wasn’t actively trying to achieve that look when he had carefully positioned the black ears _ just so _ atop of his messy curls, or when he had borrowed Saoirse’s eyeliner to draw a small black circle on his nose and added a few thin whiskers across his cheeks. It’s not his fault if Timmy just kind of suits them, is it? 

So, that being said, Timmy doesn’t think too much about it when he opens up Armie’s contact on snap chat. Doesn’t try and stop himself when he quickly sends over a picture of the candy piled high by the front door with a couple of heart eye and drooling emojis. And he doesn’t feel guilty _ at all _ when he follows it up with another picture, this time a selfie with his ears fully in shot, lips glossy from the chapstick he just applied, and his chin resting atop the knuckles of his free hand. Doesn’t feel like he’s doing anything wrong, doesn't think that the picture warrants being anything more than _just friends_ because he decides to simply caption it _ “Happy Hallow’s Eve, Everyone.” _And that’s definitely just a generic, friendly message. Just an innocent selfie from friend to friend to show off his excitement for his favourite time of year. And just to be sure, he decides to send it to a few more of his other contacts as well, including both Saoirse and Ansel.

See? No harm done. Nothing wrong with that.

As if on cue, the doorbell rings and Timmy is instantly up on his feet, padding his way over to the front door. When he opens it, he’s met with two kids who must be under the age of 8, both of them dressed as different characters from Paw Patrol. Timmy can’t help but chuckle.  
  
“Wow, look at you two!” He exclaims, smiling wide, bending down to grab two fistfuls of candy and dropping them into each of their open baskets. “Two little puppies right here. But I have to say, I do like cats more,” he teases, pointing to the headband atop his head.  
  
That makes them giggle in response and it also seems to peak the younger one’s attention. It has her beginning to ramble on about how she has a cat at home named Oscar and that he isn’t very nice, that he always bites her cousins when they try to pet him. And Timmy is laughing at her story as her dad simply rolls his eyes and gently guides her away, already heading down the hall for the next suite as the small girl continues to chatter away. He offers Timmy a grateful wave over his shoulder.  
  
When Timmy lets the door fall shut behind him, he waits about an entire 40 second (because he isn’t _desperate_, okay?) before he grabs his phone from where he’d left it on the kitchen counter. He swipes his snapchat open again, just slightly curious, and…. _ Oh. _ Timmy tries to ignore the little jolt of excitement when he notices that Armie has already opened his message within only a few minutes. He definitely isn’t blushing at the thought of what Armie may think or how he may respond. Nope.   
  
Pocketing his phone, he makes his way over to the fridge, opens it up and peruses the leftovers inside as a distraction so that he doesn't just stare at the screen until Armie responds. He’s just about to grab the rest of Saoirse’s beef stew from last night, the one that she has told him “_not to fucking touch_, _ I mean it Timmy,” _ already devising a plan to make it up to her with white wine and edibles this weekend, when a new snap chat comes through. Timmy’s hand is instantly at his hip, pulling his phone out without hesitation and biting at the inner side of his cheek. His heart picks up a little in his chest as he quickly opens his phone, small smile tugging at his lips. 

But….it’s just Saoirse.  
  
_Ugh._  
  
And to make matters worse, she looks less than pleased. Simply has sent him back a picture of her bored face in class, textbook in front of her, with her eyebrows raised. _ “I think I can guess who else you sent that too…” _it reads and Timmy immediately flushes, feels called out. Was it really that obvious? Is that why Armie he hadn’t replied to his last snap a few days ago...why he hasn’t replied now yet, either? Groaning, Timmy just tosses his phone onto the coffee table beside him, crosses his arm to cover his face and sighs into the crook of his elbow.  
  
For the next several hours, Timmy desperately tries to ignore the fact that Armie never replies. That once again, a snap of his has been left on read. He tries to ignore the way his heart kind of sinks at that, how he feels kind of fucking stupid now. Wishes he never even sent it in the first place.

_Fuck._  
  
  
~~~~~  
  
  
Armie’s drunk. Not _completely_ inebriated. But drunk enough that he has somehow actually let his friends persuade him into dressing up for a Halloween party tonight. He usually doesn’t get into this kind of shit, can’t be fucking bothered. But Nick had just told him to “s_top being so fucking lame” _ and to _"__get over himself _” because the entire team was going out tonight for Halloweekend, something that was actually pretty rare. And the guys were hyped up as all hell. Eventually, after a few more beers and Armie failing to cease Nick’s unrelenting attempts to shove a Super Mario hat on his head, Armie had finally just shrugged and given in. He had pushed the stupid hat off of him, sauntered into his room, and had rifled through his closet until he found the few articles that he had used for his costume back in Freshman year.  
  
Now, he’s sitting at one of the bar stools in the kitchen as the rest of the team slowly starts to trickle in for the pre drink. A few of the girls had been invited too and Armie can’t help but smirk when they saunter inside, decked out in different versions of what they like to call _ costumes. _ Outfits that all include their skirts being even shorter and their breasts being even higher than usual. Heather, a pretty little blonde that he had fucked a few times last year instantly spots him when she makes her way inside. She’s immediately walking over to him then, smiling, fingers tugging at the ends of her blue and red pigtails. Harley Quinn. Armie tries not to roll his eyes. _ Typical. _  
  
“Armieee,” she drawls, clearly already buzzed as she leans against him, breasts pushing softly into the side of his arm. “You look good tonight.” Armie reaches a hand down to curl around her waist, steadying her beside him. He smiles.  
  
“Hey,” He replies, pulling her a bit tighter into his side. “So do you...loving the get up.” He smirks at her then and openly lets his eyes trail all the way down her body and back up again. Taking in the fishnet tights underneath her barely there shorts, the cropped top that is hardly covering her breasts. “It’s hot.” She beams at him, flashing her whitened teeth and lets her hands move to grip at his suspenders.  
  
“I miss seeing you around,” She tells him sweetly and Armie is starting to think that maybe he can get out of this party, after all. That maybe the guy’s wouldn’t give him such a hard time for skippig Halloween if he was getting laid instead. He contemplates it for a moment, pretty close to grabbing her hand and leading the girl to his bedroom down the hall.   
  
But for some reason, something stops him. Doesn’t really feel the same urge to have her spread out beneath him tonight like he typically would. And all of a sudden, as he takes another sip of his drink, there’s an instant flash of tousled brown curls and cute little cat ears. A quick image of pretty pink lips and oversized sweaters covering long, thin limbs.  
  
Armie shakes his head. _Huh._  
  
But then, thankfully (and Armie didn’t think he would _ever_ feel this way), Greg is next to him, hand slapping at his back.  
  
“Sorry, sweetie,” Greg says to the girl, chuckling as his swings an arm over Armie’s shoulders. “This man’s sticking with the boys tonight. Gonna have to find someone else to fuck.” Heather scoffs, face pulling incredulously, appalled. She takes a step back from Armie.  
  
“_Dude,_” Armie mutters, offering the girl an apologetic smile. But he doesn’t correct him. For some reason, Armie finds that he’s kind of relieved she’s backed away.  
  
“Wow._ Fuck you,_ Greg,” Heather spits, flipping him off. Greg just grins at her.  
  
“Maybe later, babe,” He replies, winking. And that has the blonde turning away angrily, flipping him off one more time before stomping off and disappearing into the crowd.  
  
“Jesus,” Armie mutters, shaking his head ad watching her go. “You’re really a piece of shit, you know that?”  
  
“Right here in the flesh,” Greg replies, laughing, unphased. He reaches out to clink his bottle against Armie’s, squeezing at his shoulder. “Now drink up, man. We’re all getting fucking shit faced tonight.”  
  
So Armie does. Tips the beer back and takes another long swing.  
  
  
  
  
When they get to the party, another one at Violetta’s place, it's safe to say that Armie probably _is_ bordering shit-faced at this point. His eyes are feeling too thick and heavy, his body slow and hot, from the extra two beers and couple tequila shots that he'd taken before calling the cabs. And when him and the guys stumble in, Armie spots the kid almost immediately.  
  
Timmy’s leaning against the kitchen counter, palm flat against the marbled surface, and free hand clutching at a red solo cup. He’s laughing, his eyes scrunching up in that way they always do, leaning forward as he giggles and Armie can practically hear the kid’s breathy little sounds from where he's standing, despite the fact that he’s _much too_ far and the music is _way too_ loud.

Armie can't help but take him in. Can't help but let his eyes roam over Timmy's slim and delicate frame, appreciating the sight of Timmy in his black skinny jeans which are cuffed at the ankle to expose black converse clad feet. Takes in the kid’s plain white t-shirt that hangs a little low in the front, showing off just enough, the tops of his collar bones poking out and how he's paired it with a black leather jacket. His hair is styled differently, too, and that’s probably Armie’s favourite part. Likes the way it’s slicked with gel and pushed away from Timmy’s soft features, only one single curl tumbling forward. Likes how it shows off the kid's eyes even more than usual, the gel darkening his hair and creating a striking contrast against vibrant green...and for some reason...Armie’s drunken brain can’t seem to focus on anything _else_ in the entire room. Can't even think about anything other than how fucking _ pretty _ Timmy looks right now.   
  
And, as if the universe is really trying to fuck with him, Timmy is glancing up then, over toward the entrance mid laugh. Armie can notice the moment that Timmy spots him because the kid briefly stops laughing, ducking his head shyly, and letting his eyes flutter down toward the floor. He's then moving the hand from its position on the counter to rub at the back of his neck, nervously playing with the hair there.

After a few moments, when Timmy looks back up, he offers Armie a small little smile, barely there. And for some reason, Armie’s breath catches for the briefest of moments, has him smiling back. He feels his lips pulling up softly, much softer than he had expected and... yeah. Okay, that’s a bit weird. But it’s probably just the alcohol in his system that has Armie feeling all blissed out and dazed right now. That’s all, nothing more.   
  
It's not like Armie feels disappointed when Timmy finally looks away, breaking their gaze and turning back to his conversation at hand. It's not like Armie can feel the smile fall from his face when he watches Timmy resume talking to the boy in front of him, to the boy who's grinning widely down at Timmy, standing only inches away, with his head swooping low and-   
  
And...and wait. _What? _ _  
_  
Who the fuck _was that?_  
  
Armie's face scrunches up in confusion, eyebrows drawn. He immediately starts wracking his brain, trying to decipher who this guy could be. He thinks back to all the different people he has seen on Timmy's facebook, attempting to remember any guy with wavy dirty blonde locks and a fucking e_yebrow piercing. _But this kid’s face isn’t ringing any bells, mind coming up short. Armie _is_ pretty positive that he’s not from Timmy’s typical circle, though. Definitely thinks he would have remembered him and he doesn't look like the kid that Timmy is usually with. That friend of his...what was his name? Arnold, Aaron...or something like that? So then...who the fuck was _this? _And why does he have Timmy laughing and smiling up at him that way?  
  
And although he knows that he should, Armie can't stop his staring, can't help but watch as the tatted and pierced guy clearly tries to get as close as possible to the smaller boy. Watches as the guy leans forward to say something into Timmy's ear, making him laugh once more. And Timmy looks absolutely _pleased,_ cheeks flushed red with alcohol and body soft, relaxed. Something about the entire thing makes Armie's body go stiff, has his stomach dropping and even in his drunken state, he has the vague awareness to know that he should just turn away, to pretend he never even saw them. Because it's really fucking weird to just keep standing here and staring like this...right? But just when Armie is about to avert his gaze, about to turn and possibly go find Heather or Liz or _anyone fucking else_ because he’s feeling pretty pissed off right now, he notices that the other guy's hand is reaching forward then, palm coming to rest on the small of Timmy’s back. Armie's chest is suddenly tight.   
  
“_Shit,_” Nick says from beside him, lets out a low laugh. “Looks like you better move faster, Armie. Might have some competition.”  
  
“Yeah Hammer,” Kevin adds then. “It’s been like...2 months now? What the hell?” Armie can feel his hands clenching at his sides. Tries to ignore the heat spreading across his chest.   
  
“I don’t have any fucking competition,” Armie spits, rolling his eyes. He feels angry, frustration prickling beneath his skin as he continues to watch Timmy and the other guy chat away happily. And Armie suddenly thinks that he probably should have drank a little less because he's not sure why this is bothering him so much. But, like, Timmy could flirt and bat his eyes at _this_ random punk, and that was totally fine? But he had told Armie that they had to be _ just friends? _He was making a fool of him. The thought has Armie's jaw clenching, swallowing thickly.

And then, before Armie can really register what he’s doing, he finds himself muttering, "I'll be right back." Starts walking toward the pair.   
  
  



	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HIIII.
> 
> I'm sorry this took so long. To be honest, it's been a really rough few weeks for me. I suffer from chronic illness and some weeks are tougher than others. Not saying that to be a sob story, just kind of want to explain why I go MIA sometimes!
> 
> Thanks for all of the kind and lovely support. You all are too sweet. <33 This story brings me so much joy! I think this chapter is pretty fun.

“You look hot,” Saoirse breathes. She’s sitting cross legged on her bed, lazily scrolling through her phone and getting _ far past _ tipsy as Timmy finishes getting himself ready for tonight. Not bothering to turn around, he watches through Saoirse’s vanity mirror as she takes a long swig from the open bottle of rum in her hand. Eyes scrunching up in displeasure, she lets out a small cough, and then she’s quickly chasing it with a sip of coke. Timmy chuckles, rolls his eyes.

“You know, there’s this drink called _ rum and coke, _ ” Timmy teases, continuing to glance at her through the mirror as he works the gel through his curls, desperately trying to find _ just _ the right balance between perfectly styled and naturally tousled. “You could mix those two together. Stop choking on it.” The blonde just sticks her tongue out at him, meeting his reflected gaze. “But I know. I _ do _ look good, right?” Timmy questions then, turning and grinning as he drops his hands to clutch at the ends of his leather jacket, striking his best pose. Saoirse whistles, pretends to fan herself through a fit of _ definitely already drunk _ giggles.

“Oh yeah,” Saoirse replies, nodding as she reaches out to offer the bottle of rum to him. “Cody’s not going to know what hit him.” Timmy grabs the bottle from her and brings it to his lips, wincing when the burn of alcohol hits his throat.

“Ya?” Timmy asks after he’s recovered, voice a bit scratchy, resting the bottle on the vanity behind him and half turning to look himself over in the mirror again. He smiles softly. Saoirse pushes herself up, slightly wobbly in her red stilettos, and makes her way over to him. Grabbing at both of his shoulders, either in reassurance or to prevent herself from stumbling (or both), she yanks at Timmy to face her, leans forward to plant a drunken and sloppy kiss on his cheek. The red of her lipstick smears across his skin, leaving a slick trail behind and Timmy barks out a laugh. Pulling away, he brings palm up to rub at his sticky face. “Gross, Sersh.” 

“So, do you like him?” Saoirse asks him, laughing while she clumsily pulls at Timmy by the hands. Timmy lets himself be dragged towards the bed and falls onto his chest when his knees hit the mattress, props himself up on his elbow. He shrugs.

“I dunno,” Timmy replies truthfully, biting at his lip. “I mean, he’s _ cute. _ But I guess I’ll have to see…”

“He’s super into you, you know.”

“Yeah,” Timmy blushes. “He wants to grab dinner this week, actually.”

“Oh my god, _ Tim,” _ Saoirse exclaims, pushing at his shoulder in excitement.“You didn’t tell me he asked you on a date, what the hell?” Timmy just shrugs again.

“I don’t know if I’m gonna go for sure, need to see how tonight is,” he pauses, contemplating. “And tonight is kind of a date, too, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not. _ Tonight _ is meeting up and hanging out at a party,” The girl replies, matter of factly. “Dinner is a date. And a date is something _ nice _ guys do.”

And Timmy knows what she’s trying to imply. Knows that she’s referring to how Jacob never took him out on an actual date. How the two of them mainly spent their nights in the back of Jacob’s older brother’s car, parked outside of a theatre that they had zero intentions of actually entering (even though Timmy had always mentioned the different films he had been dying to see). How they would instead spend the next few hours sucking at each other's faces and jerking each other off where their families couldn’t hear and couldn’t walk in on them.

Knows that she’s referring to things like prom night, when Jacob had shown up already stoned out of his mind. How he had just honked twice for Saoirse and Timmy to meet him outside even though his mom had been waiting with her camera for a picture. How Jacob hadn’t even commented on the new suit Timmy had been wearing when he climbed in the passenger seat, the one he had been talking about for weeks, didn’t even notice Timmy’s teal bow-tie and styled curls. Hadn’t even bothered to get him a fucking _ boutonniere, _for god sake. 

She’s referring to how Jacob wouldn’t even dance with him during the slow songs that night. How he had just insisted on hanging out on the patio and smoking the joint he had smuggled into the dance inside his shoe, causing Saoirse to be the one dragging Timmy onto the dance floor instead. How she had told Timmy to break up with him that night while her arms were wrapped around his neck and his hands were gripping her waist, swaying along to “Apologize” by One Republic. How she told Timmy to leave him because he was a piece of shit and Timmy deserved better. And how Timmy had just brushed her off, told her she was overreacting. Lied and said that he didn’t mind Jacob ditching him to hang out with his buddies and get stoned. That he wasn’t a needy boyfriend.  
  
And when Jacob had found him 30 minutes later, deciding that he wanted to leave early, Timmy hadn’t even argued. Had just kissed Saoirse on the cheek goodbye and ended up back at Jacob’s place because his parents were away for the weekend and they had never had the chance to fuck yet. And. Yeah.

Timmy wasn’t very used to having nice guys in his life.

“Yeah,” He replies, bringing the heel of his palm to his chin. “I guess so…”

“Seriously Tim.” Saoirse’s eyes are narrowed as she looks at him. “Cody is a good guy. You _ deserve _ someone like that. Not some ...asshole footballer who fucks anything with a pulse.”  
  
“Jacob was years ago,” Timmy responds and Saoirse gives him an incredulous look.  
  
“I’m not talking about _ Jacob,” _She retorts, words pointed. Timmy blushes. 

“Okay, chill,” Timmy replies, leans over to grab his bottle of wine from where it was resting near the foot of the bed. “We aren’t even hooking up.” He twists off the top and takes a long sip. “We…we aren’t _ anything _. Just stuck together for this dumb assignment.”

“That’s not what it seems like,” the blonde huffs, tone accusatory. And Timmy’s cheeks burn even hotter when he thinks back to the few days prior, remembers the snap chat he had sent on Halloween. The one with the fucking….ugh, oh god, _ cat ears _(the memory may make him want to die a little inside).

He remembers how when Sersh had gotten back from class, she may or may not have found Timmy half way through a second bottle of wine, eagerly swiping through Grindr and asking any guy who showed interest if they thought he was _ cute _ ...Yeah._ C__ute. _All in a failed attempt to forget about the snap that probably came off way too thirsty and much too desperate. Cringes when he remembers just hiding his head in his hands, groaning in embarrassment when the girl had pried, asked him what the was up. How she had eventually gotten Timmy to drunkenly admit how the footballer hadn’t even replied to his snap….for the _ second _ time in a row. And then he had face planted onto the couch, groaned again, incoherently asked the room why Armie had to be so fucking good looking that it was _stupid_. And. Right.  
  
Maybe Timmy can see her point. Just a little. 

And Saoirse had let him have it that night. That’s for sure. Had gone on to tell him that he was playing with fire, messing around with the same kind of guy as Jacob. And when Timmy had tried to defend himself, to tell Saoirse that he definitely hadn’t been sending any bedroom eyes to the guy, that the snap had been completely innocent, the girl had simply shushed him before reaching for her phone. She had just held it up to reveal a screen shot of Timmy’s earlier snap and ...god. Timmy couldn’t even deny it anymore. So instead, he had just covered his face again, cursed at himself, and had ended up promising Saoirse that he would finally text Cody like she had been pushing him to do for weeks. 

“_Please, _ don’t let me relive it,” Timmy groans now, rolling over onto his back. Takes another long sip of his wine and stares at the ceiling. God, he may need something stronger.

“Go to dinner with Cody and consider it forgotten,” The blonde replies. When Timmy glances over, he sees that she’s smirking.

Timmy just flips her off. 

  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
Timmy feels good. Feels better than he has in a while. They had arrived at the party about an hour ago, while he was pretty close to all the way drunk, and had instantly met up with sabrina and all of her friends. And of course, _ Cody. _ Cody...who was dressed in all black with two simple fake fangs set on his teeth. A costume choice that definitely complimented his tattooed covered arms and deep brown eyes. Cody, who had immediately beamed at him when his eyes had landed on Timmy, who had pulled him into a tight hug and compliment his costume, who had stepped back and let his eyes roam over him and told Timmy that he looked _nice _(and actually sounded like he meant it). Cody, who had teased Timmy into playing a round of ride the bus with him and the others, even though Timmy absolutely sucked at that game, telling him it would be fun and calling him a sore sport. And Timmy ended up losing. _ Twice. _ And all the while, Cody was there with a hand resting on the small of his back and eyes gleaming like Timmy was his favourite person in the room. 

And so now, Timmy’s feeling way past gone and pretty fucking happy as he leans up against Violetta’s massive kitchen counter with a drink in his hand and a cute boy by his side. Is feeling pretty glad that Saoirse had convinced him to text Cody the other day, that he had agreed to meet up with him tonight. Starts thinking that he wants to say yes to dinner, too.  
  
“Man,” Cody says then, chuckling around his own drink. “How long until the wedding, do you think?” He cocks his head toward the other side of the counter and when Timmy turns to look, he’s met with the site of Ansel and Violetta plastered to one another against the fridge, tongues down each other's throats. Timmy makes a face, turns back to face the other boy. Giggles. Hiccups.  
  
“Who knows,” He laughs. “They’re so cute it’s honestly annoying,” he jokes and when he goes to take another sip of his beer, he realizes its empty. He frowns.   
  
“Here,” Cody says. “Have some of mine.” And Timmy smiles when the other boy holds his drink out for him, letting Timmy rest his mouth on the lip of the bottle and tilts is for him to take a swig. Their eyes lock and when Cody eventually pulls the bottle away Timmy can’t help but blush. Cody immediately takes a sip himself.  
  
“Mmm, tastes much better now,” the other boy jokes, winking playfully and that makes Timmy laugh, makes him shove at Cody’s arm in response.  
  
“Shut up,” Timmy says, giggling and when he looks up, his breath catches. Because Cody is looking at him fondly, softly. And Timmy is suddenly thinking that okay, maybe he _does_ deserve this. Maybe he does deserve a nice guy who looks at him like Cody is looking at Timmy right now. And the thought has him smiling softly back.  
  
"Bet you taste better though," Cody murmurs, smiling down at him and the comment has Timmy's ears heating, doesn’t know how to react. So he just laughs nervously, looks away. Glances over to the right, to the middle of the living room and..._Oh._  
  
Sees Armie staring directly at him.  
  
Timmy instantly drops his gaze, cheeks burning hot red because he suddenly feels caught. And that doesn’t really make any sense because _Armie_ is the one staring. But fuck...the _ snap chat. _ Timmy suddenly feels open, exposed. He brings a hand to the back of his neck, nervously tugs at the curls there and when he finally peers up again, completely expecting to see that Armie had already sauntered off, he’s surprised to see that the blonde is still holding his gaze, unmoved.

A beat passes and then hesitantly, awkwardly, Timmy smiles. Holds up two fingers in a small wave and when Armie eventually smiles back Timmy can feel his chest release, lets go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding. 

“You guys friends or something?” Cody’s voice grabs Timmy’s attention, has him turning back to the boy in front of him. Confusion is clear on Cody’s face as he’s also glancing in Armie’s direction  
  
“Uh...not really,” Timmy mutters. “We got randomly paired together for an Econ thing,” he lies. And he’s not sure why. Doesn’t _ need _ to lie. He shrugs, tugs at Cody’s arm to get his attention again, smiles at him.  
  
“I like your piercings,” Timmy tells him, changing the subject. Reaches up to poke at Cody’s eyebrow. And then, Cody’s free hand is on his hip, hot against his side as he steps closer, ducking his head a little. He grins down at him.  
  
“I really like _ you, _ Timmy,” Cody breathes and Timmy bites at his lip. And just as he's about to answer, to tell Cody _ yeah, I like you too _(even if he's not entirely sure he would mean it just yet...but knows that he _could_), there’s a deep, familiar voice beside them.  
  
“Hey, I’m Armie.”  
  
Timmy’s head instantly snaps to the side. Surprised. And he’s met with Armie’s tall frame towering next to him. Is met with the sight of the tall blonde extendeding his hand toward Cody in greeting, smirk on his lips. Once again, Cody’s face crinkles up in confusion.  
  
“Uh, hey,” Cody replies, hesitant. “Cody…” He removes his hand from Timmy’s hip and grabs Armie’s in his own, shaking it.

Timmy frowns, pushes himself away from the counter. He feels a little dizzy when he does so, remembers just how intoxicated he is, and instantly regrets it because Armie takes this opportunity to snake his arm around Timmy’s now free waist, pulls him close to his side. Timmy reaches out a hand to steady himself, braces it against Armie’s chest. He blinks, looks up at the tall boy who’s still smirking at Cody, taunting expression on his face. When Timmy attempts to move, to pull back, Armie’s grip just tightens, holds him still.  
  
“Armie, what the hell?” Timmy questions, eyes wide. Wishes he wasn’t so drunk because he can’t seem to pull away. He turns to Cody, tries to express his own confusion but the tattooed boy is simply looking back and forth between the pair of them, eyebrows furrowed, gaze eventually fixing on the hand that Armie has on Timmy’s waist.  
  
“I’m glad you’re here,” Armie responds, ignoring Timmy’s confusion, turning to look down at him now.  
  
"What-" Timmy starts to say, but Armie continues.  
  
“Been dying to see you...ever since you sent me that snap. With those _ ears. _Jesus." And the way that Armie says it makes it sound anything _but_ innocent. He's looking down at Timmy like he wants to eat him alive.   
  
_ Oh my god. _ Timmy’s mouth falls open, face searing hot at Armie’s words. Can’t believe what he’s hearing and can’t seem to find his own voice. Simply gapes at Armie is disbelief. What the _ fuck _ was going on.  
  
_ “Dude. _ ” Timmy hears Cody say, voice cold. And Timmy starts to panic when he sees that Cody is retreating, clearly ready to leave.  
  
“What. _No,_” Timmy sputters. His head is pounding. He reaches out for Cody’s arm, stumbles forward a bit, but the other boy has already stepped back too far. Armie grabs at both sides of his hips to steady him and Timmy wants to smack him away. “No. _Cody._ It wasn’t -”  
  
“It's whatever,” Cody mutters, eyes cold, shrugging his shoulders. “I'll see you around, Tim. I guess...” And then he turns, saunters away as Timmy just stares, gaping.  
  
“Wow,” Timmy hears Armie mutter beside him. Hears him let out a low whistle. “You’re _welcome_ for that.” Armie drops his hands then from where they had been placed on Timmy’s waist, takes a step back. He runs a hand through his hair, smirk plastered to his face.   
  
“What…” Timmy mutters, rubs his heel over his eyes. When he removes it, he's still met with Armie's dumb and arrogant face staring down at him. “What the _ fuck _ was that?!” Timmy spits, frustration dripping from his voice, and before he realizes what he's doing, Timmy is pushing at Armie's chest _hard._ The other boy simply chuckles, unbothered, and takes another step back. Timmy feels furious, anger bubbling deep in his chest. His head is still pounding. He surges forward again.  
  
“Woah,” Armie breathes, reaching out a hand to press at Timmy's chest, holding him back. “Chill _ out, _Timmy. Fuck. What’s your problem?” Timmy just stares at him, mouth open. Seething.  
  
“_My _ problem?” Timmy bites. “What the hell was _that_ for?! What was…” Timmy waves a hand around in the air hastily, shakes his head.  
  
“Jesus, I thought you would be happy,” Armie says then. “That creep was _all over you._ Thought I would help you out.” And again, Timmy just stares at him, blinking. What the hell?  
  
“You…” Timmy says, stops. Exhales. “What the hell are you talking about? He's not a creep. I _ like _ him."And the look that Armie gives him then is one of pure annoyance.

The taller boy crosses his arms over his broad chest and Timmy's eyes suddenly seem to fall on their own. Can't help but take in the White button up that Armie is wearing over an exposed superman shirt, noticing how tight it is in all the right places. How it's showing off Armie's toned physique. Timmy swallows. _Christ._ He can't help but think about how Armie is so much _bigger_ than Cody, so much _broader. _Can't help but think about how Armie would have no problem picking Timmy up and pushing him against the wall. How Armie could probably completely cover him with his own body, pin Timmy down, hold him in place.

Christ. Now is_ not_ the time. Timmy rubs a hand down his face, annoyed with how quickly he finds himself distracted. Feels even angrier.  
  
“Him? ” Armie laughs then, mocking. “You like _him?_ All that metal? Can he even get through security with that face?” The older boy is glaring down at him and despite his irritation, Timmy feels transfixed by the blue of Armie's eyes. Can't stop himself from thinking that the blue is so much more vibrant than Cody's brown. How the blue contrasts perfectly with Armie's tan skin and golden hair. And _fuck. _  
  
Rolling his eyes, Timmy breaks their gaze and huffs. He turns on his heel and starts walking away because he can't _deal_ with this right now. Can't deal with Armie's stupidity and his stupidly perfect body and face.   
  
“Hey! Hey, wait.” Armie is saying then, following close behind but Timmy doesn’t stop. Doesn't want to look at him, keeps walking, hoping Armie will take a hint. But of course, he doesn't. The taller boy just continues to weave in and out of the crowd of people, hot on Timmy’s heels, and the younger boy doesn't stop until he’s reached the hallway, until they are standing outside of the closed bathroom door.

And Timmy’s immediately struck with a wave of dejavu. Can’t help but remember the last time the two of them were standing in this exact same spot. Finally, he spins, glares.   
  
“I’m glad you got your fun,” Timmy says, gaze hard. “I'm sure you enjoyed that. Now can you just go back to your friends and leave me alone.” Armie holds his hands up in front of him in defence, eyebrows raised innocently.  
  
“Tim, man. I swear,” Armie says, voice earnest. “I thought I was _helping_ you. Getting him to screw off.” Timmy cocks an eyebrow, crosses his own arms, unconvinced. “_Really._ We’re friends now, remember? I wasn't trying to mess with you.” And the way he says it actually sounds surprisingly sincere, like Armie actually means it. Like Armie wasn't just trying to sabotage Timmy's relationships for fun.   
  
“Whatever,” Timmy eventually sighs, defeated, gaze softening a little. And when Armie beams down at him then, the smaller boy tries his absolute hardest to ignore the little flip low in his gut. _ God. _ That smile.  
  
“Why don't we get a drink? Let me make it up to you,” Armie says then, nodding back towards the kitchen, reaching out to tug on Timmy's arm.   
  
“The drinks are free, Armie,” The smaller boy replies plainly. Tries to hide his own smile because, god, this guy is really something else. Doesn't understand how Armie can go from infuriating to endearing in a matter of seconds. Armie just shrugs.  
  
“Well…I do have _other_ ways I could make it up to you," he says. "But they aren't very..._friendly."_ The taller boy replies, waggling his brows suggestively and Timmy bites at his lip, wills the pink away from his face. But Timmy can't help but envision all the ways Armie would make it up to him if he would just agree.  
  
“Oh my god, please shut up,” Timmy replies, laughing a little, and begins to walk forward. As he brushes past the older boy he turns, smirks. “Fine. Let's go. You owe me a free drink.” And as he makes his way to the kitchen, he pointedly ignores Armie when he speaks up behind him.   
  
"But I wasn't lying, you know. I _really_ liked those ears."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xoxo thanks for reading!!
> 
> PS. I'm even killing myself at this point with the slow build. But I can't help myself


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey look! I updated in a reasonable time frame. Proud of me?

Armie’s fucking tired. No, that’s an understatement. Armie is_ exhausted. _ So exhausted that his eyes burn as he blinks them open and attempts to adjust to the morning light spilling through the blinds of his window. So exhausted that he wonders if he’s even slept at all because _ god, _it really feels like he’s just closed his eyes about 15 minutes ago and that the alarm of his phone must be playing some sort of cruel, twisted joke.  
  
So yeah, Armie’s exhausted, but it's not the same type of exhausted that he usually feels because of his typical Saturday night events. It’s not the kind of tired that has him feeling groggy and hungover, head pulsing and throat much too dry from a late night binge drink. He doesn’t awaken to find his abs and thighs stiff, body sore from working up a sweat with his typical late night visitors. Too lazy and tired to move now let alone to get his ass down to the field for a Sunday morning practice. 

Instead, today as he rubs at his face and drags himself out of his sheets to pad down the hall at the god forsaken hour of 8 am, after only getting 4 hours of sleep, Armie feels a different kind of tired. This kind of tired doesn’t have him cursing angrily under his breath the moment that his feet hit the cold tiles of the washroom and the fluorescent lights assault his bleary eyes. It doesn’t have him feeling fucking _ miserable _as he takes his morning piss, hair dropping into his gaze, already regretting his saturday night decisions. Already wishing that he could fall back into bed and hide away for a few more hours before meeting the guys downstairs. 

No, today, Armie feels the kind of tired that has him sated, relaxed. The kind of tired that comes with leaving the party hours earlier than expected, having downed his last beer at merely 11:30 pm. That comes with late night burgers at the diner down the road from Violetta’s house and fuzzy images of a soft, blissed out looking Timmy sitting with his back against a booth, smiling with his lips (rather sinfully) wrapped around the straw of a strawberry milkshake. The kind of tired that involves the curly haired boy laughing at Armie’s jokes, eyes crinkled up in amusement and small, breathless sounds falling from an open mouth. The kind of tired that involves staying there long after both of their plates were cleaned and their glasses empty, late night turning into early morning, and eventually being escorted out by the Diner’s owner sometime around 3 am when it was time to close up.

It’s the kind of tired that has Armie softly smiling when he makes his way back into his bedroom now, as he grabs at his phone and notices that there is a message alert from the younger boy. That has him instantly perching on the side of his bed, swiping the convo open and _snorting _ because Timmy’s message is a flurry of frustration at having forgotten his leather jacket somewhere during the night before. And the kid had decided to text Armie a series of crying emojis and broken hearts at 4 am while indicating, “I looked _ so good _in that jacket, too. RIP, Jacket. You’ll be missed.” 

It’s the kind of tired that has Armie feeling something weird in his chest. Something that’s steel tight and feather light all at once. That has him quickly typing out a “G’morning :) RIP jacket,” before he can talk himself out of it, before he can focus too much on why he’s grinning down at the phone in his hands and why his heel is bouncing rapidly on the floor beneath him. It’s the kind of tired that has him following up with a “See you at 1?” Pointedly ignoring the fact that he may come across a little too eager. Ignoring the fact that he’s already looking forward to their afternoon study session that day when he grabs his gym bag and slips on his shoes, as he calls out for Greg to meet him in the car, before heading for the elevator doors. 

And when Armie makes it to the parking lot he nods at Nick as he approaches the truck, tosses his bag into the back and pulls open the passenger door to climb in. As soon as he’s in, before he’s gotten a chance to even buckle up, Nick is handing him a cup of coffee without saying anything, smirk on his face. Bless the guy. And Armie takes it gratefully, immediately downing a few large gulps. He leans his head back against the chair, closes his eyes. 

“You are a fucking_ gift, _” Armie mutters, bringing the cup to his lips again. Nick laughs. 

“I figured you’d need it,” Nick responds, tossing a muffin onto his lap as well. Blueberry. Armie really lucked out in this whole friend department thing. Because he hadn’t even gotten a chance to make himself a bowl of cereal this morning, was just planning on suffering through practice and then stuffing his face on campus afterwards. Armie unwraps the baked good and takes a large bite. 

“Whaddya mean?” He asks through a mouthful, washes it down with another gulp of coffee, turns to look at his friend. Sees that Nick has his eyebrows raised, confused. 

“Uh, what do _ you _ mean?” Nick questions back. And when Armie just stares at him, not getting it, he continues. “Uh, the _ kid _?”

_ Oh _. Right. 

“Uh, yeah,” Armie responds, somewhat awkwardly. Shrugs his shoulders. “Nah, uh. We didn’t. Not yet.” He glances out of the window toward the door of the apartment building, clears his throat. “Where the fuck is _ Greg, _he’s going to make us late. Like usual.” 

“You..._ didn’t? _” Nick asks, ignoring Armie’s complaint. Tone perplexed. And for some reason, Armie’s feels himself start to bristle. Can feel his good mood start to slip. He brings a hand up to his face, rubs at his eyes. 

“No,” Armie responds, exasperated, shrugging again. “We just got some food. Then it was real late. So.” And Nick is quiet for a moment so Armie takes the opportunity to stuff his face with another few mouthfuls of cake, pulls out his phone from his jacket pocket and flips it open. Isn’t expecting the little flip of excitement when Timmy’s name flashes on his screen for the second time that morning. 

**Timmy: Can we make it 2? I’m wiped. **

**Timmy: Sersh found it!!! Yayyyy. Jacket home safe and sound <33**

Armie chuckles. Can’t help it. Can’t help but picture Timmy laying in bed with tousled hair, eyes bleary and barely awake, smiling excitedly as his friend walks in and tosses his jacket onto his bed. Can’t help but smirk because he can practically hear the enthuthiasm in Timmy’s text. Can picture him rolling over onto his belly to message Armie eagerly, face pulled in that stupid cute smile of his. And Armie is just about to start typing his response, is just about to confirm about meeting a bit later on in the day, but can feel his friend’s eyes boring into him from the side.

Amie pauses, cocks his head. Glances over.

“What?” He spits. A little too harshly. But whatever. Nick narrows his eyes.

“Is like,” Nick begins, hand gesturing toward the phone screen and eyes falling to the open message. And Armie realizes that Timmy’s name is on full display, that there’s no hiding who he had just been texting. He flushes. “Is something like, _ going on _with you two?” Armie stills.

“What,” He starts, instantly swiping his phone shut, text unanswered. Shoves it back into his pocket as if he’s been burned “_No. _What the fuck?” His face feels kind of hot. And it’s probably because he feels angry. Not because he feels called out or anything. 

“Kay, relax. I was just wondering,” Nick tells him. But his eyes still remain unconvinced. “It’s just. You were _ really _pissed last night, man. Like, you should have seen yourself. And then you didn’t even bring him back?” 

Armie turns to glare back out the window then, at a loss. Doesn’t even know what to say. And he’s desperately wishing that Greg would just hurry the fuck up because he wants this conversation to end. Doesn’t want to talk about it cause like...yeah. _ Okay. _ Armie _ had _ been really pissed off last night. And yeah, he _ didn’t_ bring Timmy back to his place. But that was because they were playing friends right now. Because Armie had to get on the kid’s good side first.

Because Timmy wasn’t _ like _ that. Timmy was a _ boyfriends _ kind of guy. Timmy was the kind of guy who liked other guys with fucking wrist tattoos and ear piercings. Liked other guys who grabbed at his waist and spoke really close to his face, who smiled down at Timmy like he was _perfect. _Guys that made Timmy step even closer, smile back at them like he was actually enjoying their company. Like Timmy wasn’t just tolerating them being around and wasn’t just wishing that they would leave him alone. 

Timmy liked guys who he would have ended up leaving with if Armie hadn’t swooped in and interjected. Who he would have spent his night with rather than Armie. Who Timmy would have _ preferred _ spending it with over Armie. Because Timmy had even _ told _Armie that he liked the kid. Had been really pissed off when Armie had messed it all up. And...

And. Okay. If you’re asking Armie, Timmy likes guys who Armie thinks are fucking stupid. Because like, what did that tattooed asshole have that _ Armie _didn’t have? What did that kid have that got Timmy all doe eyed and happy? 

Not that it even matters, though. Not that Armie was _ comparing _or anything. 

Because he wasn’t. Definitely not. Just because, uh.

Fuck. Armie feels weird. 

“So what?” Armie just mutters gruffly. His good mood definitely gone now. Crosses his arms over his chest and kicks his one foot up onto the dash. And he can’t help but feel slightly relieved when he notices Greg finally making his way out of the front door. Fifteen minutes late, the idiot. “Just drop it, okay?” 

So Nick does. Doesn’t press Armie any further. Just shoots Armie one more glance, expression strange, thoughtful. And then Greg’s climbing in, groaning about how he’d been puking for the past 30 minutes, telling Nick to drive slow or he’ll make sure to projectile all over his backseat. And then Nick’s putting the car into reverse, pulling out immediately, smirking as he jerks the car forward in just the right way to make Greg moan and curse and clutch at his stomach. 

Armie just closes his eyes again. Feels tired.  
  


~~~

“Okay,” Timmy mutters, slamming his textbook shut. It’s late on a Wednesday afternoon and his head is starting to pound, eyes going cross eyed from staring at words much too long. “I need a break. You need a break?” But he doesn’t wait for the other boy to reply before he’s standing up from the kitchen table, stretching, leaning back to crack his back.  
  
They had been at it for the last couple of hours. Desperately trying to work out the final few paragraphs of their written report before beginning to focus on the oral presentation because thanksgiving was nearing soon, only a few weeks away. And Timmy had a strict schedule outlining that the first draft of their report had to be finished before the Holiday.

“Yeah,” Armie agrees simply, following suit and also rising from his seat, stretching himself. He tosses his pen onto his open notebook, closes the screen of his laptop. And then he’s sauntering over to Timmy’s sofa, throwing himself down onto it. “Sounds good to me. Another episode?” He questions as he lays back, bringing one hand to rest behind his neck and the other to rest against his stomach. His shirt rucks up a little, exposing the sliver of skin just atop the waistband of his chinos. Armie Yawns.

Timmy looks away. Coughs. 

Timmy can’t help but think that they’ve fallen into a pretty good rhythm lately. That they’ve got a good thing going on now. Ever since that night, ever since the two of them had chatted over burgers into the wee hours of the morning, Timmy couldn’t help but notice how there had been a slight shift in their dynamic. It was as if Armie had finally gotten it, as though he had finally stopped solely trying to get under Timmy’s skin. Stopped teasing him at every chance he got and _only_ focusing on getting Timmy flushed and embarrassed whenever they were together. That still happens though, of course. Because Armie was still, well..._Armie, _after all. But it was as if the older guy had actually, dare to say it, started seeing Timmy as an actual _ friend _now?

And the more time that the two of them spent together, the more easily Timmy grew to learn that yeah, Armie could be a douchebag, could definitely say and do some questionable shit that really ticked Timmy off. But he was also pretty funny. And he was also pretty smart, too, something that Timmy hadn’t expected. Definitely hadn’t been expecting Armie to actually show up each week with his portion of the assignment inching closer to complete. Hadn’t expected that the older boy would actually take this thing seriously, that he wouldn't just use the assignment as an opportunity to rile Timmy up every chance that he got.

So, yeah. Timmy was getting kind of used to having Armie around. Was getting kind of used to saving the guy a seat for class and meeting up a few times a week to work on Econ. Was getting kind of used to frequent study breaks that ended with them just shooting the shit, watching some Netflix, or listening to some music before getting back to it. Was starting to get used to texting Armie at random hours of the day, just to pass the time. Or when he found something funny, when he came across something that he thought the other guy would appreciate.

And if Timmy had to pointedly make sure not to stare too long at Armie’s broad chest or soft, pouted lips when he was bent over scribbling into his notebook or typing away on his laptop...or if Timmy had to still will himself not to blush when Armie would make unabashed comments about Timmy’s small frame or pretty curls. Well, that’s something that he was working on. Something that he could manage. Something that he could grow to ignore. 

Well, hopefully. 

“Not Mandalorian, though.” Timmy says now as he makes his way over to join Armie on the couch. He pushes at the guy’s feet and when Armie just smirks, doesn’t make any attempt to move them, Timmy rolls his eyes. He lifts them up himself and plops down onto the cushion, lets Armie’s large feet drop onto his lap. Can't help but notice they’re actually _massive. _Has to pointedly stop his brain from focusing on that any further. “I’m in the mood for some sexy Penn Badgley.”

Armie snorts. “He’s a _murderer_, Tim. You pyscho.” But he’s smirking over at Timmy, already reaching for the remote laying on the cushion next to him and pulling up Timmy’s Netflix Account. The younger boy shrugs, kicks up his feet onto the coffee table in front of him, pokes at the sole of Armie’s foot and chuckles.

“Maybe I'm into that,” Timmy retorts, smiling smugly. Now it’s Armie’s turn to roll his eyes.

“You're sick.”

And just then, keys can be heard jiggling at the handle of the front door. A few moments later, Saoirse is making her way through the entrance, kicking off her shoes and tossing her bag onto the carpet. She glances over at them, smiles. But just barely.

“Hey,” Armie calls out to her, brings one hand up to wave. Saoirse simply continues to ruck off her jacket, turns to hang it up on the hook near the door.

“Hey,” Saoirse responds, doesn’t even look at him. And then she’s grabbing her bag back up from the floor, hiking it up over her shoulder and making her way to her bedroom. Calls out over her shoulder, “Timmy, I'm ordering Chinese later, if you want any.”  
  
She doesn’t ask Armie if he wants to join, clearly trying to make a point. And Timmy cringes a little at that. Knows that his friend still isn't entirely thrilled about this entire situation. Knows that she's tolerating Armie being around simply for Timmy's benefit. Because when Timmy had first mentioned having the boy over to work on their assignment, Sersh had been completely against it. Had just narrowed her eyes and crossed her arms, unamused.  
  
Eventually, though, when Timmy had promised that it was purely for convenience, simply because finding a table in the collaboration section of the library was always difficult (and that wasn't a _complete_ lie, okay?), she had softened up a little. Had told him that she would _try_ to be nice but had also made Timmy promise that he wouldn't go to Armie's place to study. That she still thought he was a an ass. That Timmy should still have his guard up. 

“_Wow,_ she wants to fucking kill me,” Armie chuckles now when Saoirse has completely disappeared into her room, door closing behind her.

“That’s not….true,” Timmy offers, voice hesitant. He shrugs, lets out a small laugh. “She just. Uh. Well you’re not her... _ favourite? _” Armie snorts at this and crosses his arms over his chest. Cocks his head to the side. 

“You _don’t say?_ I couldn’t tell. Not like she wants to cut my balls off or anything.” 

Timmy barks out a laugh at that, brings his hand up to cover his mouth and shakes his head. “Well,” he says. “To be _fair._ You don’t have the best track record.” And Armie chuckles then, moves his foot to playfully nudge at the smaller boy’s chest.

“What? She think you can’t be trusted around me, or something?” He teases, expression smug. And Timmy’s face burns fire red. Because um, right. Armie’s a little too close to the mark.

“Shut the fuck up,” The younger boy simply responds, ignoring the amused look on Armie's face. Instead, he decides to lean over and push at Armie's shoulder, using the opportunity to also swipe at the remote still in Armie's grip. But before Timmy realizes what's happening, Armie has grabbed at Timmy's thin wrist in his own hand, has pinned it down to the cushion of the couch by his side. Timmy's breath catches in his throat. He stills.  
  
"Stop," Timmy eventually mutters and wills his voice to stay steady.  
  
He feels his ears start to heat because the way the older boy is gripping tight at his wrist like this is making Timmy feel all sorts of ways. Has him biting at his lip because Armie barely has to _try,_ barely has to use any strength to keep Timmy's arm down where he wants it. Has him thinking about how Armie could probably grab Timmy's other wrist, too. How he could easily pin the both of them to the base of the couch and get Timmy trapped in his hold. And um. _Yeah. _But when Timmy struggles to break his arm free, Armie just smirks and lets out an amused laugh. It makes Timmy glare. Makes him huff as his eyes seem to fall to the Armie's face on their own, as they take in the smug and playful look thats resting there. Takes in how Armie's looking at him in _that way_ that always gets Timmy's stomach fluttering and neck hot.  
  
And Timmy's just about to tug again, to tell Armie to let him go and to stop being an _ass _when Saoirse's door opens. The blonde girl has her ear buds in as she makes her way by the two of them and heads for the kitchen. But Timmy doesn't miss the_ look_ that she shoots him, doesn't miss the way she rolls her eyes a little as she carries on. He tries not to frown when Armie immediately lets go of him then, dropping Timmy's wrist from his grip, clearly still trying to get on the girl's good side.   
  
Even more flustered now, Timmy quickly scurries back to his side of the couch, leans back into it and clears his throat. Watches as Armie places his feet back atop of Timmy's lap, exactly where they were before and brings the both hands behind his neck now. When Saoirse finally wraps up in the kitchen, disappears back into her room, Timmy clears his throat again. Bites at his lip. Is just about to press play when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Overly thankful for the distraction, he reaches to pull it out, swipes it open to his new message.   
  
"_Ugh_. Okay, c'mon," Timmy says then. "Let's watch an episode because it looks like have to leave for work soon, actually."

"Oh?"

"Yeah, Paul's asking if I can come in for an extra rehearsal."

Armie nods at this. "Yeah, okay. You want a ride? I could drop you off?" And Timmy looks to the side, rubs at the back of his neck. 

"Uh. Thanks. But that's okay," He replies, shifting to settle further into the cushions of the sofa, presses play on the newest episode. 

"It's no problem. I don't mind," Armie pushes, nudging his foot against Timmy's chest again. 

"Uh. Paul's picking me up, actually," Timmy replies after a few moments. Doesn't look at Armie as he says so. Isn't sure why. And the older boy is quiet for a minute, doesn't answer right away.

"Oh. Okay," Armie finally mutters. And Timmy can't tell if the older boy actually sounds annoyed or if it's all in Timmy's own head. But when Timmy finally turns to look at him, to smile and thank him again for the offer anyway, he sees that the older boy has his gaze fixed on the screen ahead of them. Expression kind of cold. "Sure. Whatever. That's cool."


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhh....so somehow this chapter became VERY long?? Not sure why or how. But here it is. 
> 
> Hope you're all having a great week! <3333

“Wow, so do you think you’ll go?’ Timmy asks, eyes darting to his blonde friend earnestly as they make their way through the restaurant doors.

The three of them have decided to grab lunch at the Mexican place just off campus, the one that is usually way too busy to just pop in for a quick bite before their next classes hit. But it is the Tuesday before Thanksgiving and the majority of students have already left for the weekend, the campus now only littered with the few kids remaining for their mid week classes. And therefore, once they’ve stepped inside and escaped the biting wind of the November air, the hostess at the front ushers them through right away, leads them to one of the larger booths near the back windows. Saoirse slides in on the one side, all the way to the very end, while Timmy and Ansel opt to sit across from her on the other side of the table.  
  
“I don’t know,” Saoirse sighs then, flipping open her menu and bringing her elbows up to rest on the table, hands cupping her chin as she frowns. “It’s like, kind of soon. Don’t you think?” She looks worried, off tilt. Timmy leans forward as well, shrugs his shoulders.  
  
“Not really?” Timmy answers, offering her one of his best smiles. Hopes that it’s reassuring. “You two have been seeing each other for a while now. What, like 3 months or so?”  
  
“Four,” the girl corrects and Timmy just nods as he begins to unwrap his scarf.  
  
“Doesn’t seem too soon to me,” Ansel chimes in then as he shimmies out of his coat and pulls his hat off, pushing the both of them into the corner of the booth. “I’m going to Violetta’s parents’ this weekend, actually.” Saoirse just groans at this, lets her face disappear into her palms.  
  
“Of _course_ you are, Ansel,” she sighs, voice muffled through her hands and Timmy tries his best to hide the smirk that’s threatening his lips. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from _Barbie and Ken._”  
  
“Okay, what does _that _mean,” Ansel shoots back, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. The girl lifts her head slightly, just enough to roll her eyes.  
  
“Just means that _most _people aren’t already planning their wedding, honeymoon, and their future kids’ names after only a few months, dude,” Saoirse replies with a smirk and Timmy lets out a snort at that, can’t help the laughter that bubbles up in his chest. He quickly brings a hand up to cover his mouth though, attempts to stifle it with a cough, when he sees that Ansel has turned to glare at him, face unimpressed. Timmy offers the other boy a sheepish grin.  
  
“Sorry, sorry,” Timmy breathes, reaching out to grip Ansel’s arm in apology. “You know we’re happy for you, man. But I do see her point. You guys have moved pretty fast.” And it was true. Ansel and Violetta had become attached at the hip, the typical, overly affectionate couple that everyone strived for (even if they didn’t want to admit it). Timmy wouldn’t be surprised if this wasn’t even Ansel’s first time meeting her parents.  
  
“So what?” Ansel retorts, huffing.“I _really_ like her and we -”  
  
“Okay, okay,” Saoirse interrupts. “Relax, man. No need to get worked up.” Ansel opens his mouth to continue, holds up a finger in protest, but just then the waitress appears at their table, notepad in hand. And once the three of them have placed their drink orders and the girl has gone, Timmy leans back on the booth bench, opens up one of the menus and peers over at his blonde friend.   
  
“I do agree with Ansel, though. I think you should go, Sersh,” he tells her. “You’ll have fun. And I’m sure her parents will love you.” The blonde offers him a hesitant smile, fingers idly playing with the straw of her water glass.  
  
“You think?”  
  
“For sure,” Timmy replies, nodding eagerly. “And while the both of you are out living your _romantic lives_ this weekend, I’ll be sitting at home with my parents. Single like usual.” He chuckles then, reaches a hand up to push back his curls.  
  
“Tim, I already told you. Just _text him_,” Ansel says, rolling his eyes and Timmy feels instantly rigid at the mention of the tattooed boy, desperately attempts to hide any trace of unease from painting his face. “I’m sure Cody has just been busy or something.”  
  
“Yeah,” Saoirse adds, “Because I don’t get what _happened._ Didn’t you guys spend like,_ all_ of Halloween night together? You didn’t get home until it was basically morning.” Timmy just bites at his lip, looks down, suddenly very interested in the appetizers on page 3.  
  
“Yeah, I dunno,” Timmy mutters, bringing his thumb to his mouth, worries at the skin there as his eyes scan the menu in front of him. “Guess we just didn’t have that spark, you know?” He shrugs, overly aware of the heat crawling up the back of his neck.  
  
“Well I think you should reach out,” Ansel adds. “You don’t spend all night with someone just _talking_ if there isn’t some sort of spark.”  
  
And Timmy pointedly decides to ignore the swoop of his stomach at that, the way that his chest tightens at the words. Doesn’t let his mind wander to images of Armie and his wide, pearly white smile as he leans over the diner table to steal a handful of Timmy’s fries. _Definitely _doesn’t think about the way Armie had licked the excess of ketchup off of his thumb, pink tongue darting out between soft, plump lips.

Or how Armie’s blue eyes had sparkled in the fluorescent overhead lighting, gaze so intense and focused that it had made Timmy flush red. Had him feeling exposed, open in a way that somehow had him smiling back easily at the older boy. Or how the other boy kept cracking lame, stupid jokes that weren’t even funny but somehow, Timmy couldn’t help but laugh at each one of them every single time and...God.  
  
Could Ansel have a point?  
  
Maybe?  
  
But then his mind drifts to memories of Armie and Liz, to the two of them pushed up against the bathroom door at the party last month. Remembers her leg wrapped around his waist and his hand on her ass. Remembers the text that he had seen later that night, the one on Armie’s phone from some random guy looking for a quick 1 am hook up. And he also remembers the way Armie had rolled his eyes and smirked when Timmy had mentioned that he didn’t...do..._that._ That he was a _boyfriends_ kind of guy. The way Armie had looked at him like he was silly, just an inexperienced kid or something. How it had made Timmy flush, made him suddenly feel like something Armie wouldn’t even want and just...  
  
Probably not, then.  
  
Timmy feels himself frown now, eyebrows knitting together. Feels his stomach sink a little.  
  
Fuck.  
  
“Want me to see if Sabrina knows what’s up?” Saoirse offers, breaking Timmy from his thoughts. And when the curly haired boy looks up he sees that she’s smiling gently at him, eyes wide and soft. And Timmy feels instantly guilty because he knows that she’s probably feeling sorry for him. Knows that she’s thinking Timmy has been let down _once again_ by yet _another_ guy. Knows that she’s thinking that Timmy is probably feeling shitty, discarded.  
  
God, he’s a terrible friend.  
  
“Honestly, guys. I’m _fine_,” Timmy answers simply, closing the menu and forcing a smile. “On to the next one, you know?” And when Saoirse just nods in agreement, when she tells Timmy that he’ll find someone else, someone better than Cody, Timmy nods and ignores the way his heart skips in his chest. Doesn’t mention how he’s not worried about Cody, that he isn’t hung up on him at all.  
  
Doesn’t mention how it’s not Cody he wants to forget about. That he can’t stop thinking about ocean blue eyes and stupid, lame jokes.  
  
~~~~  
  
When Armie climbs the steps to Timmy’s place on Wednesday evening he’s already half an hour late. Coach had worked them extra hard and long today seeing as they were going to be away for the holiday weekend. And although Armie would usually just take a quick rinse, would just throw on a ball cap and some old ratty sweats to meet his buddies after a practice, today Armie had taken his time. Had spent a few extra minutes styling his hair back from his face and had even opted for a clean shave.  
  
And it’s not that he was actively trying to look good or anything, it wasn't as though he was trying to get the other boy’s attention. No, Armie just thinks it's important. Knows that looking like he’s just sweat for 2 hours straight or as though he just crawled up from the street sewer definitely wouldn't be the way to win this bet, after all. 

So, he had taken a little bit of extra time. And even when Armie had slipped on his black khakis and one of his nicer sweaters, the one that hung from his chest in just the right way and was just the right shade of green, the one he usually only reserved for holiday dinners or class presentations, he didn’t think anything of it. Not even when he noticed that the sweater’s colour would perfectly compliment the green hue of Timmy’s eyes and not even when he caught himself wondering whether or not the other boy preferred men who wore cologne or if he was sensitive to strong scents...  
  
Because. Right. It was all just part of the process.  
  
(He ended up opting for cologne).  
  
“Sorry I’m late,” Armie apologies when Timmy opens the door now, a little out of breath from taking the steps two at a time. “Practice ran late, tried to rush over as soon as I could.”  
  
“No biggie,” Timmy answers, shrugging his shoulders and cocking his head to the side. He steps back to let Armie in and the older boy can’t help but let his eyes roam over his slim frame. Notices the loose, black track pants and the oversized navy hoodie that the kid’s got on. Can’t help but notice how his curls are slightly messier than usual, how it makes him look soft, cozy even. Armie feels his stomach flip at the sight.  
  
“Did I wake you or something?” Armie teases, reaching out to playfully pull at one of Timmy’s messy curls as he makes his way through the door. Can’t help but smile when the younger boy’s cheeks tint pink when he does so. Fuck. What was it about this kid?  
  
“Uh, I may have taken a nap?” Timmy replies, looking away and laughing nervously as he reaches up to uselessly pat down his curls. “Sorry for the hair.” He lets the door fall shut behind as he says so, starts making his way over to the kitchen table.  
  
“Don’t be,” Armie says as he trails behind, setting down his bag on one of the chairs and beginning to unpack his things. “It looks cute like that.” And yeah, okay. He may have said that on purpose. May have _known_ that it would get Timmy blushing even more, that it would get the kid shrugging his shoulders and avoiding his gaze. But Armie can’t help it. Loves the kid’s reaction and it’s not even a lie. If anyone could pull off the “just rolled out of bed look,” it was this kid. Because it was pretty fucking adorable, actually.  
  
But Timmy just clears his throat as he opens up his laptop and sits down, bottom lip caught between his teeth. “Shut up,” he mutters quietly, smiling bashfully. Armie chuckles.  
  
“So where’s my biggest fan? He asks then, sparing the kid and changing the subject. “She out planning my murder or setting my place on fire...or something?” He watches as Timmy laughs, leans forward for the briefest of moments, shakes his head.  
  
“She already went home for the weekend,” Timmy explains through his chuckles. “So you’re safe for tonight. Don’t worry.”  
  
“Thank god,” Armie replies, smirking. “I’ve grown quite attached to my ball sac. Would like to keep it a little longer.”  
  
“Valid concern,” Timmy supplies, grinning back before letting his eyes drop to the screen in front of him. “So what about you? When do you leave?”  
  
“Some time tomorrow.”  
  
“Nice, you looking forward to it?” The smaller boy asks and Armie doesn’t even try to stop his eye roll. Lets out a bitter laugh.  
  
“Definitely _not_,” He replies simply as he opens his notebook, sets it down in front of him. Timmy lifts his neck to look at him then, peering over the screen of his laptop, brows raised. Armie shrugs, “Just some family shit, you know.”  
  
Timmy nods, stray curl falling into his eyes. “Yeah, same here. Not too excited myself, to be honest.”  
  
“Your dad still being an asshole?” Armie questions, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms. He offers the boy a playful smile. “And again, don’t tell him I said that.” When Timmy laughs at that, when his eyes crinkle in amusement, Armie feels himself grin even wider. Likes that he can get the boy laughing so often lately.  
  
“He’s _always_ an asshole,” Timmy clarifies, shifting his laptop to the side and leaning forward to rest his chin in the nest of his crossed arms which are perched on the table. He peers up at Armie from under his lashes. “What about you? Any shitty parents in your life?”  
  
And Armie knows that Timmy is just making conversation, knows that he isn’t meaning to pry. But for some reason, Armie pauses, uncertain. Running a hand through his hair, he averts his gaze, glances away for a moment as he twists the bottom of his shirt round the finger of his free hand. When he finally looks back he sees that Timmy appears wary now, apprehensive as he bites at the inside of his cheek.  
  
“Sorry, you don’t need to answer -”  
  
“Uh,” Armie begins, cutting the other boy off. Swallows. “Nah, it’s fine. But it’s not...not really like that.” He watches as Timmy brings a hand to his mouth at his admission, as the boy works the skin of his thumb between his teeth and tilts his head to the side, contemplating. And after a few moments, it seems like Timmy has made up his mind about something because then he’s lifting himself up from where he’d been slouched, sitting up straight now and resting his chin in his palm instead. Leans forward earnestly.  
  
“What’s it about, then?” The kid asks and his eyes appear hopeful, curious. As though Timmy actually gives a shit what Armie would have to say back. Like he isn’t just asking to be polite.

Armie briefly wonders if this is just how Timmy is all the time. If he’s just always this kind of person. The type of person who listens to you when you’re down and tries to offer a shoulder. Who wants his friends to be happy and probably wouldn’t hurt a fly and...Well. Armie feels something tight sink into his chest at the thought of that. But before he knows it, before he even knows _why, _Armie finds himself actually wanting to answer, finds himself sighing nervously as he crosses a leg over the other to rest his ankle on his knee.  
  
“It’s my dad, he’s just...He’s not very well,” Armie finally responds. And when Timmy doesn’t reply, when he just continues looking at him with wide, green eyes, Armie carries on. Ignores the lump forming in his throat. “He got sick a few years ago….uh. Early onset Alzheimers. Yeah. Things have just been kind of tough at home.” Armie glances away then, brings one hand to rub at his neck and another to his knee, taps his fingers against the denim.  
  
It’s true. Things _have_ been tough. They’ve been pretty fucking terrible, if he’s being honest. It feels like every trip home is just another reminder of what used to be and what’s to come, of everything he’s trying to desperately keep hidden from sight, from himself. And each time he goes home, every time he has the courage to face it, things seem to have gotten just a little bit worse. Seems like every time he visits It takes his dad just a little bit longer to respond, to display any sort of recognition that he remembers his own son. And it takes his mom a little more effort each night not to cry at the dinner table, to try and stop the quiver of her chin and prevent the wetness of her eyes when his dad becomes angry, confused.

So yeah, it’s been tough. Armie’s not looking forward to this weekend at all. Wishes that he could just stay at school instead. Wishes that the guilt of possibly leaving his mother home alone during the Holiday was something he could live with, was something that wouldn’t keep him up at night.  
  
Armie blinks now. Swallows. Clears his throat because _fuck,_ he is _not_ going to get choked up about this right now. Because Armie doesn’t even know why he’s talking about this, doesn’t even know why he’s telling this kid about his pathetic family trauma when Armie hasn’t even known Timmy for an entire semester at this point. Doesn’t know why he’s said this much because he doesn’t like to talk about this, especially with people he barely even knows. But when he eventually shifts his gaze back to the other boy, he finds Timmy’s face thoughtful, soft.  
  
“_Shit, _Armie,” the smaller boy starts. Stops to shake his head and sighs. “And here _I _am complaining about _my_ dad when yours is well....when you have real problems.” But Armie just shrugs, clears his throat again as he sits up. Looks away as he reaches for his own laptop that’s sitting in his bag on the adjacent seat.  
  
“It’s fine. Could be worse,” the older boy responds, eyes focused down as he sets his laptop on the table and lifts the screen. And his heart feels too fast in his chest as he focuses on pulling up the report. Because the way that Timmy is looking at him is suddenly too much, too intense. Has Armie feeling too much too fast.  
  
“I’m really sorry,” Timmy continues, reaching forward to place his palm on Armie’s hand, squeezies gently. Armie’s eyes fly up. Wide. Feels his breath catch when Timmy’s thumb begins to rub at his knuckles reassuringly. The kid’s eyes are still so _soft_, sad even. And Armie isn’t used to this. Doesn’t know how to react.  
  
“Thanks, uh. Don’t worry about it -”  
  
And Armie’s entire body immediately floods with relief when his phone buzzes, vibrates against the side of his leg. And without wasting a second, he’s instantly pulling his hand back from Timmy’s grasp to retrieve it, not even hesitating to swipe it open when he sees Nick’s name on the screen with a new message.  
  
“Oh, shit,” Armie groans when he reads the message, grimacing. He glances up at the younger boy hesitantly. But he’s relieved to note that the strange thump of his chest has begun to dissipate.  
  
“Something wrong?” Timmy questions.  
  
“Okay, uh,” Armie begins. “Don’t kill me. But I completely forgot that it was my buddy Greg’s birthday today. And the guys all wanna go out to celebrate.” And if Armie had to say, if he had to guess, he’s pretty sure that Timmy’s face falls a little bit. Is pretty sure that the boy looks a bit disappointed at the news.  
  
“Right,” Timmy mutters. “Yeah, no worries. I can just finish the rest of this up myself.” And Armie isn’t sure where his next words even come from, but he finds himself leaning forward, smiling at the other boy.  
  
“Come out with us,” Armie says. And when Timmy only offers a skeptical look in return, Armie laughs. “Really, come on it’ll be fun. It’s the last day before Thanksgiving and we’re pretty much done with the first draft, anyway.” But Timmy is just looking at him like he has just sprouted 2 extra heads so Armie stands up, makes his way over to the other side of the table and pulls at the kid’s sleeve.  
  
“I don’t know…” Timmy responds, voice small, unsteady. But he allows Armie to pull him up anyway, face twisted in aprehension.  
  
“You have a fake ID?” Is all Armie asks then, already knowing the answer.  
  
“Course I do.”  
  
“Okay great. So it’s settled,” Armie says with a smug smile. He’s already turning to begin packing up their books. “Then you’re coming with. Go get changed.”  
  
  
~~~  
  
Armie is pretty sure that Timmy’s drunk. Well, actually, he’s probably wasted. The two of them had decided to pre drink before heading out for the club. Had decided to knock back a few beers and a few shots before heading down and calling a cab. And now as they make their way past the front bouncers and into the dense crowd, the smaller boy’s eyes are glassed over, barely focused. He keeps clutching at Armie’s sweater as though it’s a life line that Timmy desperately needs, as though Armie’s the only solid thing in the room keeping him steady and preventing him from stumbling right into the nearest table. And if Armie’s being honest, by the way Timmy’s feet seem to have forgotten how to cooperate, that’s probably true.  
  
“Easy there,” Armie chuckles, words slightly slurred himself as they make their way over to the bar.   
  
Timmy trips over himself a few times, giggles, looks up at Armie and _beams_. And the older boy has to try his damn near hardest not to grin stupidly back at him, to not let a wide smile break out across his face when the rest of the team could be only a few feet away. And it’s actually pretty difficult because Armie swears that it’s probably the cutest thing he’s ever seen, swears that the way Timmy is smiling up at him may just be enough to make Armie forget all about the approaching weekend with his family and the dread he’s been feeling all week.  
  
“Sorry,” Timmy laughs, finally letting go of Armie’s shirt to place his palms on the bar counter once they’ve reached it. He tilts his head toward the older boy, smirks. Points his finger up at him. “Good thing you’re so tall and..._large._ It’s useful.” Armie laughs at this, can’t stop the way his entire body shakes with it as he looks down at the other boy.  
  
“I’m glad I can be of assistance,” Armie tells him, bending forward to rest his elbows on the bar and ducks his head closer to the other boy. “But maybe you want some water?” Timmy just scoffs, pulls his face up in objection.  
  
“Hey, I can handle my booze,” Timmy tells him, eyes narrowed. “Thank you very much.” And as if to make a point, Timmy is leaning forward then, calling out for the bartender. Once he’s got her attention he’s muttering a quick “Two tequilas. With Lime, please.” And Armie feels his mouth twitch in amusement.  
  
“I didn’t say you _couldn’t,_” Armie says. “But you’ve been matching me drink for drink all night and hate to break it to you, kid. But you’re kind of half my size.” As if on cue, the bartender is back and placing the two shots Timmy ordered on the bar in front of them. Ignoring Armie’s comment, Timmy simply slaps down a few bills and immediately picks one up, knocks it back with no hesitation.   
  
“Your turn,” Timmy smirks, slamming the empty glass back onto the bar and bringing the lime to his lips. He pushes the other shot towards Armie, brow raised. Armie laughs. Such a _shit. _  
  
“You’re a wreck,” Armie chuckles, shaking his head. But then he just shrugs and takes the shot anyway, grimaces when the burn of it hits the back of his throat. When he’s finished it off and chased it with the remaining lime, he sees that Timmy is smiling at him again, all flush faced and lopsided teeth.  
  
And fuck, Armie’s feeling pretty good. Because drunk Timmy is a lot more open, a lot less reserved. Drunk Timmy seems like he’s actually having a pretty good time right about now. Like there’s no other person he’d rather be with right now than Armie. And yeah, Armie can’t help but smile a little bit at that thought. Can’t help but relish in the fact that he’s got Timmy’s full attention this time. No Cody or Paul in sight for him to try and fend off.  
  
“You know, Tim. If you’re trying to get me drunk and in bed. You could have just _asked,” _Armie says then, leans even closer and grins. As expected, Timmy just rolls his eyes at the comment but the all so familiar blush is already creeping into the boy’s cheeks. It has Armie chuckling, has him grinning even wider because _god,_ this kid is cute. And Armie doesn’t even try to correct himself. Doesn’t try to deny it.

He’s just about to poke even more fun, to try and get the boy laughing at him and smiling in the way that Armie’s grown to crave, when he hears someone calling for him.  
  
“Hammer! You made it.”  
  
Reluctantly, Armie tears his gaze from Timmy and peers back over his shoulder, sees that Greg is approaching. Pushing himself up from the bar he turns, moves forward to pull Greg into a quick hug and slaps a hand on his back.  
  
“Eyy! Happy birthday, asshole,” Armie laughs. “Another year older. But definitely not wiser.”  
  
Greg laughs, sways as he pulls back to grin. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks man. Glad you came out.”  
  
“Of course. Let me get you a beer?”  
  
“I won’t say no to free booze,” Greg replies but he’s already looking over Armie’s shoulder, gaze fixed on something behind him. When Armie turns, he realizes that Timmy’s watching them, hands stuffed in his pockets awkwardly with a weary smile on his face.   
  
“Hey, I’m Greg,” the guy says then as he side steps Armie. Reaches his hand out for Timmy to grab.  
  
“Oh, hi! Happy birthday,” Timmy replies, smiling as he takes Greg’s hand in his own. “I’m -”  
  
“Timmy,” Greg cuts him off. “Yeah, I know who you are.” He’s smirking as he says so and Armie feels his jaw clench. Feels kind of hot. “Armie here has told us _a lot_ about you,” Greg continues, turning to look at Armie and offering him a _not so discrete_ wink.   
  
Armie feels the colour instantly drain from his face when Timmy looks at him then, eyes curious, quizzical smile playing at his lips. Because Greg is a douchebag. And drunk. And Armie suddenly wants nothing more than to make sure Greg keeps his big ass mouth shut.  
  
“Oh,” Timmy says, bites at his lip. “Really?” And before Armie can reply, before he can think of some way to respond and make sure that Greg doesn’t say something stupid, that he doesn’t fuck this all up, there’s a hand on his shoulder. A firm, tight squeeze. Armie glances over and sees that Nick’s by his side now, sees that he’s also leaning forward to take Timmy’s hand.  
  
“Yeah,” His friend says then before Greg can respond, much to Armie’s relief. Armie could honestly fucking kiss Nick right now. “You guys are Econ partners, right? I’m Nick by the way.”  
  
“Yeah,” Timmy replies, gripping Nick’s hand. “We are. And surprisingly, turns out Armie isn’t as useless as I thought he would be.” That makes Nick’s face break out in a large smile, has him clapping a hand onto the smaller boy’s shoulder as he laughs.  
  
“Armie, I like this kid,” Nick declares, causing Timmy to duck his head bashfully, to rub at the back of his neck. And when he peers back up, Timmy meets Armie’s gaze, offers him a pleased look.  
  
Armie can’t help but smile back, “Yeah, he’s not bad.”  
  
  
  
The rest of the night passes by in a blur. A blur of drinks on top of drinks, of dim lighting and loud music. Of long, lean limbs and soft, brown curls tucked under the crook of Armie’s chin. It’s a blur of a touchy, grabby Timmy, with his hands clutched tight at Armie’s waist. Who can’t seem to stop laughing as they finally make their way out of the bar at around 2 am, as say they say their goodbyes to the rest of the team, or as they stumble to the side of the road to grab their Uber. And now, as they make their way back up the steps to Timmy’s apartment, the two of them both trying their best to keep their voices low, Timmy is still giggling, face scrunched up in amusement.  
  
“Ugh, I’m freaking _starving,_” Timmy says then when they reach the top of the stairs and thrust open the door to the hallway, lifting his face from where it’s been resting at the side of Armie’s jacket to peer up at him. Sleepy eyes blinking lazily. Then, as if he’s had a sudden realization, he pushes himself back, lifting one finger into the air. “I have KD at my place! Let’s go.” Starts walking off with determined strides down the hall, shooting a hand out to keep his balance, to steady himself. Armie simply laughs and rolls his eyes, trails behind.  
  
When they reach the door to Timmy’s apartment, Armie watches in amusement as the boy struggles for a few moments, as he takes about 3 tries too many to get his key successfully in the lock. But once he does, Timmy’s turning the handle and stumbling inside, bracing his hands against the nearest wall and kicking off his shoes before making a straight line for the kitchen. Not wasting any time, he immediately begins throwing open the doors of several cupboards and drawers, clearly in search of supplies as Armie simply slumps down onto the couch instead, lets his head hang back against the wall. His head feels too heavy and too light all at once. Realizes that he’s drank quite a fair share himself.  
  
“Uh, I don’t know if you should be operating a stove right now,” Armie says, placing both hands behind his neck when he sees that Timmy has dropped his 4th utensil, watches as it clatters to the ground, as the kid curses under his breath and doesn’t bother to retrieve it. And he’s only half kidding because the sight is pretty endearing, to be honest. Armie finds that he’s smiling pretty big as he observes the boy at work, as he watches Timmy furrow his brows in concentration and stumble about the kitchen. “You can barely even walk straight, you light weight.” And that catches Timmy’s attention, has the kid pausing what he’s doing and turning to face him with a small glare, pots and wooden spoons still in hand. Armie doesn’t bother to tell him that one pot would have been plenty.  
  
“Um, screw you,” Timmy shoots back, but there’s a coy smile dancing across his lips. “I literally drank just as much as you did.” He’s pointing the spoon in accusation towards Armie now, forehead creased in mock annoyance as he says so. And Armie lifts his head at that, offers the boy a smug grin.  
  
“_Exactly,_” Armie tells him. “That’s my point. And to be honest, I have no idea how you haven’t puked yet.”  
  
“Okay, chill,” Timmy says, rolling his eyes before setting both of the items down on the counter. He rests his palms there and leans forward, lips pushed forward in a pout. “You aren’t _that_ much bigger than me.” But Armie merely snorts in response, tilts his head and stares at the boy in an _are you being serious_ kind of way. Timmy just stares back. Focused.  
  
“For real?”  
  
Timmy doesn’t reply, simply shrugs his shoulders. Continues to hold Armies gaze. And his eyes are bright. Mischievous.  
  
Huh.  
  
“Yeah?” Armie asks, voice rough. Pointedly lets his eyes travel up and down the kid’s frame. Makes it obvious. “Come here, then.”  
  
So Timmy does. Doesn’t even hesitate. Just immediately starts walking forward past the counter, leaving the discarded mess of pots and utensils behind him. He shuffles his socked feet across the carpeted floor and once he's reached where Armie is sitting on the couch, once he’s standing in front of Armie with only a few feet of space between them, the boy crosses his arms, cocks his head. Armie lets a few beats pass by, doesn’t move right away. Just allows Timmy to appear awfully smug for a few moments as he stands there, eyes dancing playfully and gazing down at him. His mouth quirked.  
  
But then, slowly, the older boy is lifting himself from his seat. Standing up and taking a large step forward, making sure that he stretches out as long as he can. And Armie takes great pride in the way that the kid’s smile briefly falters, how his features fall. How Timmy now has to tilt his neck back to look up at him, to meet his eyes.  
  
“You were saying?” Armie teases, grinning arrogantly as he takes in the sight of the kid’s dark lashes against deep, green eyes. The way that Timmy’s curls have lost their shape a little throughout the night, how they’re now falling around his face, dusting the sides of his alcohol stained cheeks. He sees the boy swallow.  
  
“Not _that_ much bigger,” Timmy repeats softly after a few moments, corners of his lips still curved up. And Armie is hit with the overwhelming desire to bite them, to take the boy’s bottom lip between his own and suck. But instead, he takes another small step forward, brings his hands to Timmy’s sides to grab at his hips. Lets his eyes fall to where they’re placed, to where his hands are almost _entirely_ covering the other boy’s narrow waist. _Shit._  
  
“Well, what about _stronger?_” Armie asks then, squeezing his hands tight, voice taunting.   
  
And when he lifts his gaze, Armie watches as Timmy’s mouth parts at his words, as his eyelids droop. Watches as the boy’s face dusts an even deeper shade of pink than before. And when the younger boy uncrosses his arms then, reaches out to place them on Armie’s chest instead, palms pressing every so lightly just over the other boy’s ribs, that has Armie’s breaths quickening. Has his heart tripping over its own rhythm because he can’t ignore how _good_ it feels. Can’t ignore how much he already loves having Timmy’s hands on him. How he wants them _everywhere._ Wants them trailing the entire expanse of his torso, wants them up and around his neck, wants them moving into his hair and -   
  
Timmy pushes forward suddenly, shoving his hands hard against Armie’s chest. Hard enough to make Armie falter and stumble back a step, to tilt him off balance.   
  
“The hell?” Armie sputters, caught off guard. But his hands are still clutched at the smaller boy’s waist.  
  
“_See,_” Timmy breathes quickly, voice low. “Not _that_ much stronger.” But his hands are back on Armie’s chest again then, gripping at his sweater tight, smirking up at him. And Armie can’t seem to focus on anything else other than the kid’s stupid, _pretty_ face. Finds his eyes completely fixated even as he lets his hands travel from Timmy’s sides to the small of his back. As he spreads his hands there and _pulls. _Pulls the smaller boy flush to his chest and watches as Timmy's eyes widen in shock.  
  
Armie takes a step back, lets his calves hit the couch seat. And then he’s dropping down onto it, effectively pulling Timmy down with him so that the boy lands onto his lap, a fit of airy giggles and drunken protests as he squirms, as he attempts to break free. But Armie doesn’t let him go, just holds him down. Wraps his arms tight around Timmy’s waist even as he struggles.  
  
“Okay, _okay._ You made your point,” Timmy laughs, eyes twisted shut as Armie digs his hands into his sides, as he presses at the sensitive space just under the boy’s ribs, the place that gets the boy writhing and flailing atop of him. “You’re hurting me.” And Armie finally manages to grab the boy’s wrists when Timmy tries again to push off of him, grips them within one hand, holds them tight to his chest.  
  
“So stop fighting,” Armie replies, chuckling. And after a few more moments, after a few more seconds of useless resistance, the younger boy finally stills, seems to give up. Finally settles where he’s perched with both legs on either side of Armie’s thighs and simply looks down at him through heavy breaths and lidded eyes.  
  
Armie swallows. Feels an instant rush of heat spreading from his chest all the way to the back of his neck. Doesn’t even try to stop his eyes from dropping to Timmy’s parted mouth. Watches as the boy’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, as they eventually curl into a shaky, hesitant smile.  
  
“_Armie_…”  
  
“Yeah?” The older boy responds, briefly glancing up to meet the kid’s eyes. He slowly releases Timmy’s wrists then, opting to instead slide his hands down to rest at his lower back. When Timmy doesn’t protest, doesn’t push him away, Armie tests his luck, lets them drop even lower. Gently cups the boy’s ass over his jeans. Notices how he can easily cover each cheek with just one palm and..._God._  
  
“Fuck, Armie,” Timmy gasps, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. “We...We _can’t_…”  
  
“Why not?” Armie asks, squeezes. Watches how that makes Timmy suck in a harsh breath, how it makes his neck drop. Watches as Timmy leans forward to support his weight, as he places his hands on the back of the couch on either side of Armie’s head. Definitely doesn’t miss the way that Timmy’s eyes fall to his own mouth.  
  
“I. Well, because…” But Timmy doesn’t continue, doesn’t seem to know what to say. And Armie’s limbs are thrumming with energy, humming with excitement as the boy peers down at him with that blissed out expression. So the larger boy grips his hands even tighter, causing Timmy’s eyes to flutter shut for the briefest of moments.  
  
“Just one._ Please_,” Armie finds himself murmuring, entire body on fucking fire. Can’t believe how desperate he feels, how desperate he is to just get a small taste. “One kiss.” And when Timmy bites his lip, lifts one hand to push back the curls from his face and looks down at him with wide, blown out eyes, Armie almost groans. _Christ. __  
__  
_It’s silent for a few moments. Nothing else to be heard besides the pair of their heavy breaths against the otherwise empty room. And when a few more beats pass with the other boy still quiet, still hesitant, Armie’s about to take it back. Is about to apologize for even asking, is about to say that they should just -- _  
__  
_“Okay,” Timmy finally whispers, nodding. “Yeah, okay. One is good.”  
  
Armie doesn’t waste any time, doesn’t dare take a moment to hesitate, to let this opportunity pass. He's immediately bringing one hand up to cup at Timmy’s jaw, the other moving to the boy’s middle back and pulling him even closer so that their chests press flush together. And when Timmy ducks his head, when he meets Armie halfway so that their lips finally line up, Armie closes his eyes and sighs into it. Has to stop himself from practically moaning because Timmy’s mouth is hot under his own, lips opening up sweetly as Armie licks into it, as he let his tongue trail behind the boy’s teeth. When Timmy whines ever so softly, just loud enough that Armie can hear it over the pounding pulse in his ears, the older boy feels his cock stir. Feels it to begin to stiffen against the confines of his pants.  
  
So he presses forward even more, lets his mouth slide even deeper against Timmy’s. Grips at the boy’s back harder and pulls him forward, _needing_ to be even closer. Overwhelmed with the desire to feel Timmy's entire frame pressed up against his own. To feel the kid's heart beat against his own chest. And just as Armie’s about to let his hand trail from Timmy's backside to the front of his body, to venture down and see if the other boy is in the same state as Armie is, Timmy pulling away then. Leaning back on his heels, chest rising and falling heavily.  
  
Letting his hand fall from Timmy’s cheek to now rest at the kid’s thigh instead, Armie pointedly has to bite his lip and close his eyes. Has to let out a harsh, long breath to prevent himself from chasing Timmy’s mouth. To prevent himself from swearing and begging Timmy for more.  
  
“Okay, um,” Timmy mutters and his voice is shaky. Nervous. “That’s good. That’s..._enough._” But it comes out more like a question and Armie forces his eyes open, takes in the sight of Timmy’s red, kissed mouth. Nods.  
  
“Yeah, okay,” Armie responds. Swallows. His heart heavy against his chest.   
  
Neither of them move.  
  
“Okay,” Timmy repeats. Licks at his lips.  
  
“Okay.”  
  
Another beat passes.   
  
“Tim -”  
  
But before Armie can say anything more, before he can even finish the boy’s name, there are hands in his hair and lips crashing against his own once more. Armie groans, immediately wraps his arms around Timmy’s torso and pulls him in again.  
  
God. He is _so_ fucked.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HI HIII. So, so sorry that this update took forever. Life has been so crazy busy. But here it is :) Love you all!! thanks for all of your comments and patience for this chapter xoxox

Timmy grunts as he rolls over, shoves his face deep into the cool corner of the pillow and desperately tries to ignore the violent pulse within his skull. Tries to ignore the thump of his heart in his ears because it’s way too loud. Loud enough that it _hurts._ And when he turns his neck so that his face is angled to the side, as he tries to seek out the cool breeze of his desk fan against his flushed cheeks, he lets out another long groan.  
  
His head throbs again.  
  
_Shit._ _  
__  
_Timmy’s not going to lie, he feels like he’s been hit by a truck right about now. Actually, no. _Worse _than that. Timmy feels like he has been hit by _5 trucks_ and maybe an entire fucking freight train because he feels absolutely terrible. Feels so, _so_ terrible that his brows furrow in distress as his mind instantly flashes back to the previous night. Flashes back to the pre drinks at the apartment, to the countless shots at the bar, to the three or four more rounds of beer that he had joined in on with Armie’s buddies before finally stumbling outside into the cool, fall air and catching their ride home. Timmy remembers how he had refused to slow down, how he had failed to pass up a single drink. How he had kept returning to the bar to fetch another, and another….and then maybe even one, or two, or seven more.  
  
And yeah, _okay_. He had partly done so to prove a point after Armie had first poked his fun. After the larger boy had smiled down at him with his perfect, wide grin that had made Timmy flush pink and his stomach grip tight. That had made him suddenly _preen_ under Armie’s attention and had caused some innate desire for Timmy to prove he could be the fun that Armie wanted. That Timmy could keep up. But mostly, it had been because Timmy was actually having a good time and, more than anything, wanted to avoid possibly fucking it all up. Had desperately wanted to avoid any awkward, embarrassing _Timmy-ness_ that usually followed him around in these situations and had a tendency of biting him in the ass.  
  
So, he had kept ordering drink after drink. Kept returning to the bar long before the one in his hand was even empty. Long before he had even downed the last sip from his glass. Because he had loved the way that the nervous flutter in his chest seemed to dissipate more and more with each swig. How each additional drink had let him smile more easily, had let him dance a little more freely. Had let him laugh and joke with the older boy as though Timmy hadn’t been trying his absolute _hardest_ not to blush under Armie’s gaze or do anything embarrassing in front of his football friends. How it had masked just how hard his heart was hammering against his ribs each time that Armie would place a hand on his hip, or his back, or his elbow. Had loved the way it let Timmy forget just how desperately he wanted Armie _not_ to regret asking him to tag along.  
  
So, Timmy knows that he shouldn’t be surprised that he feels like this. Knows that the piercing pain in his head this morning shouldn’t be a shock because he hasn’t drank this much in ages. That he hasn’t been this hungover since that time early freshman year. That time back when he and Sersh had stayed up practically all night marathoning Grey’s Anatomy after turning down an invite to the kegger down the road. The same night that they had polished off an almost completely full 26 of rum between the two of them, gushing about the hot professor in their art history class. And Timmy had ended up passing out on the floor of Saoirse’s dorm room. Too gone for her to even try and move.  
  
Now, as Timmy experimentally swallows, wincing because his throat feels like sandpaper, he can’t ignore the fact that he probably should have stopped last night somewhere between the tequila shots and jager bombs. Knows that he has made some pretty poor choices because he desperately needs water, needed it probably 2-3 hours ago. But he doesn’t get up. Can’t bring himself to move because his limbs feel too heavy, too tired and sated where they are limp against the mattress. Feels like his entire body is a brick of lead as he fights to open his eyes, as he forces his lids to part and meet the onslaught of morning sunlight as it trickles past the blinds and splashes over him.  
  
God. What _time is it_, anyway?  
  
Lifting his neck so that he can peer over at the clock on his bedside table, Timmy lets out another groan when he sees that it’s already 10am. Swears under his breath because that means he only has one hour before he’s supposed to meet his dad and head home for the weekend. _Great._ He knows that he already will have to avoid his father's death glares and judgemental stares today. Knows that his dad will be absolutely livid that Timmy is showing up to Thanksgiving dinner in this state. And the_ last_ thing Timmy needs today, while nursing this wicked hangover and dealing with that shit already, is for his dad to also ream him out about being late. Definitely doesn’t need to endure an even _more _painful car ride than he’s already anticipating.   
  
He drops his head back to the pillow and begins to contemplate finally pulling his heavy body out of bed. Is close to getting up and making his way to the kitchen to get some much needed hydration and a couple pop tarts. But then, Timmy’s eyes fall to the pile of clothes in front of his bed. Feels his body instantly still when he notices the green sweater that is laying atop of large, dark jeans. Dark jeans that are about _three sizes _too big to be a pair of his own. And stomach gripping tight, clenching around nothing, Timmy lets his eyes travel to the belt laying next to the other clothing articles. Sees how it’s laying haphazard on the carpeted floor, carelessly tossed. As if it was discarded, forgotten.  
  
Timmy sucks in a breath. Feels his body flush.  
  
Oh, shit.  
  
Shifts his gaze and notices a single sock laying near the bedroom door.  
  
Notices the other one tossed near the dresser.  
  
Bites at his lip.  
  
_Oh... __  
__  
_Eyes instantly widening to twice their size, Timmy sits up almost immediately, heart rate quickening within his chest as the covers fall from his bare torso. Glancing down, he sees that he’s only in his briefs. Almost chokes when he puts two and two together, when he realizes that he’s slept in _only _his underwear and that there is a pile of large, _definitely-not-his-own,_ clothing on his bedroom floor. That there is a pile of clothing that Armie had _definitely_ been wearing last night because how could Timmy _forget?_ How could Timmy ever forget the way that green sweater had clung to the larger boy’s chest. How it had showcased Armie’s broad, strong form and had tugged at his muscular arms. How Armie had looked as Timmy gripped the sweater between his own fingers at the end of the night. How he had pulled at it, crowded him. The alcohol pumping through Timmy's veins making him bold, so bold.  
  
Confident.  
  
_Eager._  
  
Remembers the blue of Armie’s eyes as Timmy had fisted the green material in his palms, as he had stood two feet too close in front of the couch. Had gotten up in the boy’s space. Inhaled his scent. Remembers as he had pushed, _dared _Armie to make a move. How he had urged the older boy to cross that line. The one that they’ve obviously been skirting around for the last few months.  
  
And right now, Timmy thinks that he may be having issues breathing. Has to avert his gaze from the offending clothing articles staring back at him because they are practically daring Timmy to have a full on meltdown. Practically daring him to hide under the nearest rock because the previous night suddenly comes flooding back. And Timmy can’t stop himself from replaying it in his head. Can’t help but think back to how desperate he had been for the older boy, how needy he had probably seemed. How he had straddled Armie’s waist, body scorching hot with excitement, and how he had wanted nothing more than for Armie to roll them both over and just have his way with him. How his dick had gotten hard almost instantly when Armie’s palm had slid down to grip at his ass over his jeans.  
  
Cheeks flushing red, red hot, Timmy pictures the way Armie had looked up at him. How the larger boy had stared at his mouth and licked at his own lips. How Armie had taken Timmy’s jaw into his massive palm and had pressed their mouths together. How he had sucked Timmy’s tongue between his lips and groaned against him. How _good_ it had felt when Armie had gripped even tighter at his ass, as he had squeezed and pulled Timmy even closer so that their chests were flush, so that Timmy’s crotch was pushed up against the older boy’s stomach. Remembers trying to stifle his moan and how he had to stop himself from pushing forward, from pitching his hips and grinding his straining erection against the front of Armie’s sweater.  
  
And Timmy had eventually tried to pull back, had tried to _be good._ Had tried to think of Jacob and all the ways the kid had screwed him over. Had tried to remember Saoirse’s warnings and all the reasons why Timmy should stop this.  
  
But then Armie had leaned his head back against the couch, eyes lidded and dark, hand still gripping at Timmy’s ass. He had looked up at Timmy as though stopping was furthest thing from his mind, as though parting was actually _painful_, and suddenly, Timmy couldn’t hold back anymore. Remembers just lunging forward and crashing their lips together once more. How desperately he had needed Armie’s mouth on his again as though it was the air he breathed. Gripping tight at Armie’s hair and his hips jerking forward when the older boy had finally trailed his hot mouth to Timmy’s neck. As Armie had bit and licked at the skin there, pulling small, breathless moans from Timmy’s lips. How Armie had cursed against Timmy’s collar bone and let one hand trail to his front and cup at his crotch. Had pressed down softly at first, just testing the waters.  
  
And right now, Timmy’s entire body flushes with embarrassment as he recalls how_ loudly _he had whined. How he had shoved his face into Armie’s hair and trailed his hands to the older boy’s upper back. How Armie had chuckled against his neck as Timmy moaned and nimbly flicked open the button of his pants with one hand. Had unzipped Timmy’s jeans so, so easily, and had slipped his warm hand inside to grab Timmy's leaking cock. Had cupped him over his briefs and let his thumb trace over the head. Had made Timmy whine again and bite at his lip.  
  
And...and _G__od.  
__  
_Timmy lets his body fall back against the cushions. Covers his eyes with his forearm because his mind is already picturing what happened next. Can easily remember the way Armie had eventually trailed his hand inside of Timmy’s briefs and had gripped him tight. How he had pushed the waistband down so that Armie could work his hand back and forth, softly jerking Timmy off while continuing to mouth at his collar bone, his neck, his jaw. How the older boy had managed to trail his lips to Timmy’s ear, how he had bit at the lobe and asked Timmy if it _felt good_. Had asked Timmy if _he liked it_.  
  
And the smaller boy hadn’t even stood a fucking chance. Didn’t even manage to respond because his body had immediately stilled. Mouth falling open and eyes fluttering closed as his dick instantly began to pulse, spilling into Armie’s tight, hot grip. Remembers how he had moaned and whined, had buried his face deep in the crook of Armie’s neck while riding out the waves of his orgasm. Hips pushing forward with each pulse and coating the inside of Armie’s palm. Remembers his eyes rolling back and collapsing against the larger boy, letting the weight of his body fall into him.   
  
But after that, Timmy doesn't remember much. Can only vaguely recall being poked awake by Armie’s strong fingers, how they had pressed against his belly. Recalls blinking his tired eyes open, lifting his face from where it had been pressed into the couch cushion to be met with Armie staring down at him. The older boy laughing lightly and asking him if he wanted to head to bed. And..._Christ._

Timmy scrunches his eyes shut now, bites at the inside of his cheek because, like, did he _actually_ fall asleep after cumming all over himself? Knows that he probably did because he doesn't remember anything _more_ after he had finished. A blank, open memory resting between that moment and when he had woken up to find himself horizontal on the couch. Just knows that he had sleepily smiled at the older boy, expression sheepish. Recalls mumbling something about needing to return the favour as he had reached for Armie’s crotch around a yawn. And the way Armie had just laughed again and shook his head. How he had grabbed Timmy’s hands and told him not to worry about it. How he had simply helped Timmy up, had supported his weight and guided them both to Timmy’s room down the hall. _  
_  
And so, Timmy is kind of freaking out. Is feeling pretty mortified.  
  
Because it’s not everyday that someone like _Timmy_ gets a chance with someone like...well…._that_. Someone like _Armie._ Someone like Armie with his large, tall frame, his chiselled jaw, and his deep, piercing blue eyes. It isn’t everyday that someone like the older boy, who has the entire campus throwing themselves at his feet, even _looks_ in Timmy’s direction. Let alone shows any interest in him.

And of course, as goes his life, Timmy had gone and made a complete fool of himself. Had went and thrown himself at the guy as though Timmy had never had a boyfriend or attention in his life. Had climbed all over him and... ugh, _God_. Had came embarrassingly quick from a simple hand job as though it was his first time. Like he was just some High School kid who didn’t have any experience and didn’t know how to hold it off. And, like...Timmy may want to die a little bit. Because how could this get any worse?  
  
Eyes darting next to him, Timmy sees the empty spot in bed, how the covers are rumpled and pushed back as though someone had climbed out of the other side. Fights the urge to roll over and tuck his face into the crease of the other boy’s pillow. To inhale his scent. Instead, Timmy continues to lay back with one arm thrown across his forehead and his other hand tapping nervously against his exposed stomach.  
  
Part of him hopes that maybe, _just maybe,_ there is some chance that Armie had already left for the weekend? That he had somehow managed to slip out this morning while Timmy was still asleep and head home. Lets himself entertain the idea that _maybe_ Armie had his weekend bag packed already in his car. That Armie had fetched a pair of new clothes and just left these other ones behind? Had been in a rush and simply forgotten them. Because that makes_ complete and utter_ sense. Of course it does. People totally walk down 4 flights of stairs and across the parking lot in only their underwear. Totally normal. Happens everyday. 

Right.

Groaning, Timmy lifts his arm from his face and reaches behind him. Grips onto the headboard and rolls his eyes. Because, obviously, Armie hasn’t left. He knows that. Knows that He’s somewhere on the other side of the bedroom door, only a few feet away. And that thought alone has Timmy’s heart tripping against his chest. Has him swallowing hard because, well, what the hell was he supposed to do?  
  
Was Timmy supposed to go out there and greet Armie as though he hadn’t just thrown himself at him last night? Was he supposed to go out there and offer the guy some coffee and old, stale cereal, all while pretending like he had forgotten just how hard Armie had made him cum a few hours earlier? Like he hadn't been thinking about the way Armie had popped one finger into his mouth afterwards and licked it clean, as he had lapped and tasted Timmy’s release?

Because..._yeah._ Um, Timmy doesn’t think he can do that. Definitely not.   
  
And eventually, Timmy’s mind wanders as he begins contemplating a new plan. One that involves discretely poking his head out of the door and scouting the apartment quickly. And if the bathroom door is shut, if it’s clear that Armie is busy in there, this plan involves throwing on some clothes as quickly as possible and making a beeline for the front door. Has him booking it to the bus stop down the street and meeting his dad early. Simply sending Armie a text message about how he _had to get going_ and to _help yourself to breakfas_t, blah blah blah. And then Timmy thinks that maybe, just maybe, they could finish off this assignment via email and text message. That maybe,_ just possibly, _Timmy could successfully avoid having to face Armie again for the rest of the semester. That he could live down his current embarrassment in peace. Hide.   
  
But then.  
  
“Hey, you’re awake.”  
  
Timmy whips his neck to the side, startled. Feels his pulse quicken as he locks eyes on Armie who is standing in the doorway of his bedroom, beige towel wrapped around his waist. Hair wet and slicked back out of his face.  
  
“Hope you don’t mind,” Armie continues. “I have to head home soon and _really_ needed to wash off my hangover.”   
  
Timmy just stares at the older boy, feels himself swallow. Somehow, throat even _more dry_ than when he first woke up. Tries to steady his breathing because Armie is walking forward then, chest dawning droplets of water that trail all the way down to his navel. That catch Timmy’s attention and has his eyes falling to watch as they travel lower, lower...all the way down to where the towel is wrapped around Armie’s waist. To where a trail of hair peeks out over the edge of the towel and..._Oh._ Oh shit. Back up! Back up again. Instantly back to Armie’s face who is staring at him still, soft smirk on his lips.  
  
“Uh,” Timmy finally manages to say, cheeks burning. Looks away as he pushes himself up on his elbows. "Yeah, no. No problem.” Clears his throat and starts to climb out of bed. Instantly regrets it because he then realizes how little clothing he has on. How his thin, pale frame is on full display next to Armie’s large, tanned chest. 

Quickly making his way over to his closet, Timmy ducks his head as he goes and avoids looking at he older boy. Instantly starts rummaging for a pair of sweats and a t-shirt and doesn’t rush. Tries to take his time because he isn’t too keen on watching a practically naked Armie saunter around his room. Definitely doesn’t want to watch as the other boy lets the towel drop, as he pulls on his boxers, because Timmy may actually goddam choke if that happens. May actually f_ucking di_e this morning if he has to be witness to that. And he's just about to reach forward to pull on his track pants, desperately trying to pretend that Armie isn't drying off his damp, glistening body behind him when suddenly, there are hands on his hips. Large palms gripping at his sides and pulling him backward so that Timmy’s exposed back hits Armie’s now (thankfully) clothed torso.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Armie mumbles, voice deep. Warm. Chin resting atop Timmy’s curls, large hands gently stroking at Timmy’s sides. And the smaller boy feels his skin immediately prickle, feels it blossom with goose bumps. Has to suck in a breath. Shivers.  
  
“Uh, nothing,” Timmy lies, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Moves to step forward, to create some distance. But then Armie’s gripping his sides harder and turning Timmy around so that the smaller boy is staring up at him. Pulling Timmy close and letting his hands move to rest at the small of his back. And he's gazing down at Timmy curiously, quizzically. One eye brow raised. The intensity of his gaze making the smaller boy squirm, blush immediately growing. Has Timmy looking away as he tries to form words. “Just, y_ou know._ Sorry about…not like...” He trails off, sighs. Takes a small step back from Armie’s grip so that one of the older boy’s arms fall from his hips. So that there's enough room for Timmy to vaguely gesture toward Armie’s mid region, to his crotch. Only then noticing how Armie's only got his boxer briefs on under his sweater and that the outline of his dick is completely visible. A long, thick line against the boy's thigh.  
  
Timmy coughs. Can't help but feel like he's making it even worse. But Armie simply barks out a laugh then. And when Timmy looks back at him, when he lifts his eyes up to meet Armie's once more, he sees that the blond is shrugging his shoulders, smiling.  
  
“I _ told _ you," Armie says. "Don’t worry about it. It was still fun.” And when Timmy doesn't reply right away, when he just looks back at the older boy hesitantly, unsure, Armie continues. "Right?"  
  
A beat passes.   
  
“Yeah,” Timmy finally says, managing to smile shyly back at him. Lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck. And just, _wow_. Could he be acting anymore like a fucking _virgin _right about now? Kind of wants to kick himself because he's not making this situation any better, that's for sure.   
  
“Besides, there's _ plenty of time _ to return the favour,” Armie says then, cutting Timmy from thought.  
  
And somehow, Timmy’s cheeks manage to heat even more. Because, well....that sounds pretty fucking good. Timmy's not going to lie. Can’t ignore the way his cock twitches at the words, how his nape gets damp at the thought of repeating last night. At the thought of possibly getting his own hands (or god, maybe even his own mouth) anywhere below Armie's waist. Can't deny how badly he wants that.   
  
But before he can reply, before he can stutter around some sort of response and try to form a coherent sentence (because his mind is currently on the verge of short circuiting by the images it's produced), Armie is thankfully stepping forward then. Warm hand gripping at Timmy’s right side and pulling him close once more. Leaning down to take Timmy’s mouth in his own and causing the younger boy to release a small sound of surprise. Has Timmy inhaling sharply as he lifts one hand to brace against Armie’s chest. As he lets Armie work his mouth open and dip his tongue past his lips. As he feels Armie press in to lick at the corners of Timmy's cheeks. Tries his hardest not to groan.  
  
It’s not a long kiss. But it’s not short. It's just enough that when Armie’s pulling back, when he's finaly breaking away, Timmy is already hoping for more. Is already wishing that he could do this again and again. That this wasn't just a morning after kiss. Wishes that they could have so many more of these. So many more afternoon and late night kisses. Maybe even mid-class kisses with their thighs pressed against each other underneath the lecture table, pinky fingers touching atop their books.  
  
And he can feel his stomach flutter when Armie looks down at him and says, “I’ve got to get going. But can I come over Monday when I’m back?” Because Timmy hadn't been expecting that. Hadn't expected Armie to want to see him anytime soon after last night. Let alone the first day back. Had thought he had messed it all up, had thought that he wouldn't get another chance. That maybe this little game they had going was now finally over.

But no, apparently not. Because Armie is asking to see him when he's back to campus as though Timmy totally didn't put him off. And the way he says it is like Armie possibly doesn't even want to leave right now. Like he actually feels bad that he has to go. And he's looking at Timmy with a gaze that is so _gentle and soft. _Not a trace of a smirk to be found. Just a warm smile that meets blue, eager eyes. A look that has the younger boy nodding instantly, small smile forming on his face.   
  
“Yeah,” Timmy replies, finds himself leaning forward. And before he can stop himself, before he can chicken out or think too hard about it, he stretches up and places another chaste kiss to Armie’s lips. Lingers for only a moment. Pulls back and softly says, “Yeah, of course.”  
  
  



	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY. This chapter is kind of shit. I'm sorry. And I'm also sorry this took literally ages to get out. I kind of lost my muse for this story the last few months but slowly getting it back. Thanks to everyone who has been reading and enjoying this <3 Love you, my dears.

When Armie wakes up that morning, he’s instantly met with the sensation of soft, messy curls tucked up under his chin and the weight of a long, thin leg hooked over his own waist. And since his head currently feels too heavy, too thick with the remnants of last night’s binge drinking, it takes a few moments for Armie to register exactly where he is. Takes a few seconds for him to blink open his eyes and to sleepily peer around the room. To release a slow yawn as he eventually let his eyes fall to the smaller boy who’s still resting beside him.  
  
And. Well. The sight is enough to have Armie’s breath tripping within his chest. Can’t help the way his stomach flips and his lips curve up in a small smile when his eyes fall to Timmy’s open, parted mouth. To where the kid’s cute face is squished, pressed tight against Armie’s bare shoulder as he sleeps. Looking so calm, so peaceful that Armie has to fight the urge to get closer. Has to fight the desire to bring his hands down to cup at the kid’s cheek, to tilt Timmy’s jaw up so that Armie can feel his soft breaths puff against his own lips. Really wishes that he could place their mouths together, that he could lick into the boy’s mouth until Timmy begins to stir awake beside him.  
  
But like. God.  
  
This was _not_ the plan.  
  
So instead, Armie lets out a deep, long breath. Lets his eyes fall shut. Licks at his own dry lips and moves his hand to rest on Timmy’s thigh beneath the covers. Instantly realizes that it may be a mistake when he feels his neck grow hot. Swallows hard because the kid’s skin feels so soft, so smooth beneath his palm. And it has Armie immediately thinking back to last night. To how smooth the boy’s small ass had eventually felt under his large hands when Timmy had been straddling his hips. Has him thinking back to how Timmy’s hot, eager lips had felt under his own, how they had tasted. Has him remembering how freaking _good_ the other boy had sounded when Armie had finally gotten his hand wrapped around Timmy’s dick.  
  
And it has Armie remembering just how fucking _hard_ he had been in his own pants when Timmy had mouthed at his neck. When the small boy had rutted into Armie’s grip to meet his pulls with sweet, soft sounds tumbling from his wet lips. And just. God. Armie had wanted to make it good for him. Had so, _so_ desperately wanted to get Timmy off. Doesn’t even remember the last time that he has been that hard. Doesn’t actually think he’s ever been so close to coming without even getting a hand on his own dick before. Somehow already on edge by just simply touching the other boy, by just simply listening to the sounds that Timmy made. And Armie remembers how he had practically lost it himself when Timmy finally came, when the smaller boy had jerked and moaned against him. And even when --  
  
Armie is broken out of thought when Timmy suddenly stirs beside him, when he feels the younger boy shift in his sleep so that his leg hitches a little higher, so that it’s now pressing firmly against Armie’s crotch. And the action causes Armie to suck in a sharp breath because it’s only then that he realizes he’s half hard. Dick apparently very interested in the memories of last night and now trapped under the younger boy’s leg. Holds back a groan when Timmy shifts again, when his thigh rubs at Armie’s growing erection and has to stop himself from pressing up into it.  
  
So, biting his lip, Armie ever so carefully eases Timmy’s leg off of him. His movements are slow, gentle in order to avoid waking him. And once he’s successfully untangled himself from the younger boy, once he’s softly cupped Timmy’s cheek and placed his sleeping face onto the pillow instead, Armie slowly eases himself up to a sitting position. Rubs one hand through his sleep messed hair and watches as the younger boy grunts, as he rolls over so that he’s now facing the opposite way. Takes in the way the bed covers fall so that they loosely drape around Timmy’s slight hips. How the kid’s back arches in just the right way, providing Armie with a perfect view of the boy’s long spine and milky, pale skin. And he’s suddenly hit with the desire to lean forward, with the desire to place his mouth to the middle of Timmy’s back. To press them to the nape of his neck. Wants to inhale, to smell the boy’s curls. Wants to --  
  
Fuck.  
  
Yeah...This definitely was not the plan.  
  
Armie rubs his hand through his hair again. Shakes his head and lets out a small laugh. Can’t help it. Because this is really kind of ridiculous, isn’t it? It’s kind of ridiculous that Armie is still sitting here, completely wide awake, and watching Timmy sleep. It’s kind of ridiculous that he doesn’t even want to get up, doesn’t want to leave this space of theirs. Somehow finding himself glued to these bed sheets, body stuck and itching to lay back down, desperate to spend the day here. Desperately wants to feel Tim’s warm body pressed to his again. And can’t help but wonder if Tim would let him. If Timmy would let him roll them over and press their chests together. If the younger boy would clutch at Armie the same way that he had last night, if his mouth and hips would be just as eager for his touch. And it’s just… It’s a lot. It’s too much, really.   
  
So Armie leans forward to grab his phone off of the bed stand then. Eager for a distraction. For anything to focus on, anything to deter his focus from the boy sleeping next to him. And when he swipes open the home screen, he’s met with an onslaught of messages. Most of them are from the team’s group chat and a few from his family. But when his eyes scan to the time he curses under his breath, realizes that he really should be getting up now if he’s going to try and make it back to his place on time to meet Nick.  
  
So, stretching his hands up and over his head slowly, Armie groans as he stands up. Lazily strips off his socks and tosses them onto the floor next to his clothes before making his way out into the hallway. Heads toward the washroom because he definitely needs a shower, that’s for sure.  
  
  
  
After Armie has successfully found where Timmy keeps the extra towels and has washed off the grimy residue of the night before (and possibly may have even made sure to use Timmy’s shampoo. Already knowing _exactly_ which bottle was his because Armie can still remember the scent of the younger boy’s curls pressed up under his nose this morning), he’s feeling slightly more human, slightly more alive than he was 20 minutes ago. And after towelling himself off and wrapping it tight around his waist, Armie makes his way back to Timmy’s room, bare feet padding against the carpeted floor.  
  
He’s mostly expecting Timmy to still be asleep when he gets there, is mostly expecting to be met with the same sight as earlier. With the the kid’s soft, pretty face still pressed to the pillow and with the blankets still wrapped around the small boy’s thin body as his chest rises and falls. Is already thinking that he will just sneak in quietly and get dressed before waking him to say goodbye. But instead, when Armie pushes the door open to Timmy’s bedroom, damp hair dripping in front of his eyes, Armie’s gaze falls to meet a definitely awake, definitely wide eyed boy.  
  
“Hey, you’re awake,” Armie greets happily and watches as Timmy’s head whips up and around to meet his gaze, as his cheeks flush pink. Mouth parted. And it kind of looks like Timmy’s just seen a ghost, to be honest. He kind of looks a little terrified...  
  
“Uh, hope you don’t mind,” Armie says then when Timmy doesn't reply, a little awkwardly, offering the boy a gentle smile and making his way in. “I have to head home soon and _really_ needed to wash off my hangover.” He watches as Timmy visibly swallows at that, nods. Simply pushes himself up. As the kid avoids Armie’s gaze.  
  
“Uh,” Timmy says then. Voice still thick with sleep. "Yeah, no. No problem.” Clears his throat and then he’s scrambling out of bed, completely avoiding Armie’s eyes. Instantly making his way across the room and over to the closet. Looks as though he wants to be anywhere _else_ other than near the older boy. And Armie can tell that Timmy is kind of freaking out.  
  
It causes Armie to falter for a moment, causes him to frown. Finds himself feeling a little strange, a little caught off guard because, well. This doesn’t usually happen. Not to him. Because Armie isn’t really used to the morning after thing. Definitely isn't used to awkward, clumsy conversation after his typical hook ups because by the time they’ve both sobered up, he’s usually either kicked the other guy out already or has gotten a ride home himself.

And so, Armie’s starting to think that maybe he didn’t really think this part through. Can’t help but wonder if Timmy's quiet behaviour is some sort of indication that maybe wants Armie to like...Leave? If he should have maybe left last night? Has Armie wondering if maybe _he_ was the one possibly reading this entire thing wrong? If he was the one being fucking weird, acting just like all of those clingy one night stands that he always hates dealing with. The ones where the other person doesn’t seem to take the hint and definitely overstays their welcome….Or just.  
  
Armie shakes his head. Lets out a quiet scoff.  
  
What the hell is wrong with him?   
  
Slowly makes his way over to where Timmy is rifling through his closet and decides not to overthink it. Just steps forward and grabs the small boy by his waist, pulls Timmy back against him. Presses his chin atop of the boy’s head and can’t help but love the way Tim’s body seems to mold perfectly against his own. Can't help but love the feeling of Tim's warm skin under his hands.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Armie mumbles. Gently strokes at Timmy’s sides.  
  
“Uh, nothing,” Timmy responds then and when he moves to step forward, Armie just grips his sides harder. Spins him around so that he can catch his gaze. Tries not to let his disappointment show because God, he really doesn’t want Timmy to be acting this way. Doesn’t want to even think that maybe Armie has fucked this whole thing up. Whatever..._this_ even is. And just watches as the boy blushes, watches him look away before continuing. “Just, you know. Sorry about…not like...” And when Timmy just sighs, steps away to make a small gesture toward him, ears pinking even more, it suddenly all makes sense. Armie feels his mouth quirk, feels his chest relax. His shoulders sag in relief. 

“I told you," Armie says, chuckling. Shaking his head. "Don’t worry about it. It was still fun.” Because it was. God. _It was_. Doesn’t want Tim to think there’s anything to be worried about, anything to be embarrassed about. And when Timmy doesn't reply right away, when he just looks back at the older boy hesitantly, unsure, Armie continues. Needs to make sure Timmy gets it. Needs to make sure Timmy enjoyed it, too. "Right?"

“Yeah,” The boy finally says, looking up. Smiling shyly with those stupid, adorable teeth of his. And Armie is pretty sure his heart fucking stops.  
  
Fuck.  
  
  
~~~~~~~~~~  
  
  
When Armie finally makes it back to his apartment that morning, he sees that Nick’s truck is already parked outside. Cringes just a little because Nick told him not to be late. And, as he glances at his watch, Armie sees that maybe, just _possibly_, he may be running about 40 minutes behind schedule. Knows that Nick’s going to be a bit pissed off with him but honestly can't really bring himself to care. Because, well, Timmy’s mouth had been so soft, so sweet earlier that morning. Had been so eager under his own lips when the smaller boy had finally gotten his hands on Armie’s chest. When he had finally stopped fretting about whatever it was that was twisting around in his brain, when he had simply smiled and leaned up to press their lips together again. And so, can Armie really be blamed for sticking around just a little while longer? Nah, not really.  
  
He climbs the steps of the stairs two at a time to his flat and when he pushes through the front door, he can already hear Greg (ugh, _fucking Greg_) and Nick lounging on the couch. the two of them re-hashing the night before.  
  
“Dudeee,” Nick calls out when he sees him. “The fuck? We were supposed to leave like an _hour_ ago.” Armie just toes off his shoes and shrugs his shoulders. Offers his friend a guilty smile.  
  
“Yeah, sorry man,” Armie replies as he turns to hang his coat up on the hook beside the door. “Woke up late.” And he instantly sees Nick’s mouth quirk into a smirk, sees the guy lean back and laugh.  
  
“Yeah, Greg hasn’t been able to stop fucking sulking all morning,” Nick replies. And Greg just rolls his eyes, flips Nick off as he leans forward to take a bite of his bagel. But Armie just crosses his arms, tilts his head.  
  
“What d’ya mean?” Armie questions, making his way over to the fridge. Just then realizing how hungry he actually is and hoping to quickly soak up the alcohol still churning his stomach before they hit the road. And as he opens the fridge door and bends over, he hears Nick laugh again from behind him.  
  
“He’s being a poor fucking loser. Was so pissed when you left with the kid last night.” Armie freezes. Feels himself go rigid, hand stuck where it's grasping at the juice carton. Right.  
  
“Not what happened,” Greg says then before Armie can respond. And Armie has to clear his throat, has to swallow as he slowly stands back up. As he grabs a glass from the cupboard and starts pouring himself some O.J. Decides to stay silent. Because he doesn’t know what to _say_. Doesn’t have a fucking clue. Feels his chest deflate because, god. This just was not. The fucking. Plan. _Okay?? _  
  
Armie can't stop his mind from turning gears as he begins contemplating if he should go along with this. Is actually wondering if maybe, just maybe, he should just laugh. If he should just nod along and lie about it. If he should just lie about last night and tell them both that he _did_ sleep with Tim, that he _did_ get the kid in bed because then, well then maybe this entire thing could be over. Then, he won’t have to listen to Greg, or Kevin, or any of the other idiots on his team continue to tease and mock him about his lack of game anymore. Can’t help but think that maybe this could be the way he gets out of it. That he could just wipe his hands clean and leave this whole stupid bet behind him.  
  
But then, christ. _But then _his mind flashes back to the smaller boy’s expression this morning. To the way that Timmy had looked at him earlier, so bashful, hesitant. As if he didn’t know what to do with himself. As if he didn’t know how to act. And Armie can’t forget how the kid’s face had looked after he had leaned down to kiss him. How the smaller boy had just instantly melted into Armie’s hold, all reservations seeming to instantly slip away. The way that Tim’s mouth had been so red, so flushed when he pulled back. Or the way it had made Armie wanted to keep going, how it had made him want to suck those red lips right back into his own mouth. How he had wanted the younger boy’s hair tucked up close to his nose and just. Just. Armie’s just so fucking screwed. Isn't he?   
  
He takes a long sip from his glass, swallows. Places it down onto the counter. “Uh, no,” He starts. Stops. Shrugs his shoulders. “His friend was a puking disaster when we got back to his place. Tim had to spend the night helping her out. Really fucking annoying.” Turns around and immediately starts rummaging through the drawer for a spoon, a bowl. Moves to grab the cereal from the other side of the kitchen. Braces himself.  
  
“What the fuck?” Greg says then, voice booming with amusement. Armie winces. “You’re kidding me, right?” Squeezing his eyes shut, Armie just takes in a deep, harsh breath. Doesn’t turn around.   
  
“Nope,” He grits out and carries on with what he was doing. But of course, _of course,_ the guy just can't give it a rest. Just has to keep going.   
  
“Dude,” Greg chuckles then causing Armie to finally turn, to watch as the asshole gets up from the couch. To watch as he makes his way over to the kitchen counter and leans against it. A stupid, arrogant smirk plastered to his obnoxious, dumb face. “The kid looked like he was practically gagging for your cock all night, following you around like a lost little puppy. And you’re saying that you didn’t even _fuck him_?” Armie feels his face instantly harden. Feels his chest go tight, sharp. Has to focus on pouring the cereal into his bowl and adding some milk. Doesn’t reply but his skin feels red, red hot.   
  
“Greg--” Armie hears Nick say then, as if in warning. As if he knows that this isn’t going to end very well. Because he knows Armie.  
  
“What?” Greg interrupts and Armie tries to ignore him because he doesn't give a shit what Greg has to say.  
  
hE Doesn't give a shit because Armie _knows_ that he can get anyone he wants. Doesn't need to prove anything to know that. Doesn't need to prove himself to_ fucking Greg_ of all people. Greg, who probably hasn't fucked anyone in the last year, who doesn't have a fucking _clue_ when it comes to getting women, men, whoever. And Armie's just about to leave, is just about to bring his breakfast with him to his room and ignore this entire conversation altogether when the other guy continues.  
  
“It’s true. Man, if I had known you weren’t going to do it last night, maybe_ I_ would have tried to shoot my shot. The kid seems like he'd be a pretty good fuck--”   
  
“_Shut the fuck up,_” Armie hisses, instantly slamming his spoon against the counter. Doesn't even think before he's making his way over to the other side of the counter in a few, long strides. Gets up in the guy's space and takes in the way Greg’s eyebrows raise, the way the guy’s smirk grows even wider. How this seems like _exactly_ the response that Greg had been looking for.  
  
“What?" He asks. "I’m pretty sure he would have been down for it. Looked like the he was really _desperate_ for a good dick--”  
  
Armie lunges forward then, pushes fucking _hard_ at the other guy’s chest. Clearly catching him off guard because Greg stumbles back a few steps. Loses his footing and has to reach out an arm, has to grip at the nearby bar stool to catch himself.  
  
“What the _hell,_” Greg fires back. And Armie feels his hands clench tight at his sides. Feels his heart beat heavy in his ears and has to stop himself from surging forward and going for it again. Has to stop himself from throwing his fist against Greg's face.   
  
“Don’t fucking…” Armie spits, voice low. Has to take a breath to stop himself from yelling. Pulse heavy, rapid. “Don't fucking say that. You piece of crap.”  
  
_Don’t fucking talk about him that way._ He wants to say.  
  
Wishes he could.  
  
But instead, Armie just grabs his bowl of cereal and turns. Hands gripping at the ceramic tight, tight. Needs to leave. Desperately needs to get out of here because he just can't _take_ this shit anymore. Just needs to breathe. Can’t look at Greg’s dumb ass face for any longer, not for one more second. Knows that if he does, he's pretty sure that he'll end up with his hands on him again, is pretty sure Nick will have to break it up. So he storms his way out of the room and down the hall. Slams open his bedroom door much harder than necessary, letting it hit the wall and ricochet back to swing almost completely shut behind him. Has to grit his teeth hard in order to drown out Greg’s stupid voice trailing behind him. Has to ignore whatever he’s calling out after him from his place still in the kitchen.   
  
And he’s only alone for a few moments, has only gotten a few minutes of isolated silence to calm himself down, to slow his rapid breaths, before the bedroom door is squeaking open. Before Nick is making his way in slowly, hesitantly, plopping himself down onto Armie’s bed. Simply sits there silently and watches for a few seconds as Armie shuffles around the room, as he continues grabbing random sweaters and pairs of pants. As Armie carelessly tosses them into his duffle bag.  
  
“So, you okay?” Nick finally says when he seems to think Armie isn't going to bite his head off. When he thinks that it's safe. But Armie doesn’t stop to look at him, just continues to pack up his things.  
  
“Yeah,” Armie grunts. “Of course.” A beat passes where neither of them speak and Armie’s pretty sure that Nick is waiting for him to continue. To add on to that. But Armie just strips off his shirt, grabs a clean one from his dresser to pull on instead.  
  
“Right,” Nicks replies simply. “Okay. So then, why did it look like you wanted to smash Greg’s skull into the wall out there?” And the way he says it is more like a statement, less of a question. As if he’s making a point. Like he already knows. Because it’s Nick. It’s fucking Nick. And Of _course_ Nick fucking knows. It makes Armie feel angry. Makes him feel caught, called out.  
  
So he doesn’t reply for a while. Just simply continues to also switch out his pants for some fresh jeans. Changes his socks. And when he’s done, Armie does look up then but just rolls his eyes when he meets Nick's concerned gaze.  
  
“Because I always want to smash Greg’s head into the fucking wall. Why, don’t _you?_” Doesn’t say anything more. Just holds Nick’s gaze hard, like a challenge. Eventually, Nick gives.  
  
“Armie. Come on, man,” Nick sighs. Leans back so that he’s propping himself up on one elbow. “If you like him, you can just _tell me._ You don’t have to like--”  
  
“Like him?” Armie sputters, feeling his ears grow hot. Turns to start zipping up his bag, just shakes his head and scoffs. “What the hell, Nick. You seriously think that I. That I wanna like…” He rubs a hand through his hair and picks up his duffle, tosses the strap over his shoulder. “Just fucking stop with this shit, okay? You don’t know what you’re fucking talking about.”  
  
“Really?” Nick counters. And he sounds angry, offended. “I’m pretty sure this is the _second_ time you’ve left with that kid and you haven’t even slept with him? And you’re saying I don’t know what I’m _talking about_?”  
  
“Yeah, that’s what I’m fucking saying,” Armie says, face hard. Wishes that Nick would just leave him alone, that he would just fucking drop it. That he would stop making this shit more difficult than it needs to be “You know what. I’ll just drive myself home. Cause I really don’t need this,” He adds. Watches as Nick sits up, glares right back.  
  
“Do whatever you want, man,” Nick replies, shaking his head. “You’re such an asshole sometimes.” Stands from the bed and brushes past Armie as he says so. Making sure to let their shoulders hit.  
  
“Yeah. So I’ve been told.”  
  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
  
By the time that Armie makes it to his family home later that day, by the time that he's is pulling into the driveway and putting his car into park, he's already feeling like complete and utter shit. Is already regretting absolutely everything that he said earlier that morning to Nick, is already feeling like the world’s biggest asshole, like the world’s worst fucking friend. Because, _shit._ Nick had just been trying to be...Well, Nick. Had just been trying to be who he always is. Doing what he always _does._ Which is being there. Always being there for Armie when the guy doesn't even know he needs it. When Armie doesn't even know that he has been struggling.  
  
Even when Armie doesn't even freaking _deserve it,_ apparently.  
  
And just, Armie’s a fucking awful friend. That’s for sure. Can’t help but think about the exchange throughout the entirety of dinner that night. Can’t help but inwardly cringe, bristle, each time that he thinks back to the way he had glared and basically told his friend of god knows how many years at this point, to shut up, to mind his own business. How he had said it as if it hadn’t been Nick’s role their entire friendship to pick up Armie’s pieces. As if Nick hadn’t been there each and _every_ time that he needed a friend, a shoulder. Someone to lean on when his dad first got sick. When things first went to crap. As if Nick wasn't the only one there for Armie on his rough days, on the days when things got hard.  
  
And so, once dinner is over that night, and once Armie has helped his mother clean up the kitchen and pack away the good silverware that they use only on special occasions. And once he had gotten his dad set up in front of the T.V in the living room, with his favourite program on channel 11, the one that he has been watching every day for the last 3 or 4 years, Armie finds himself laying on his back in his childhood room. Finds himself rubbing a hand over his tired eyes and cursing under his breath. Finds himself really wishing he had kept his cool earlier today because today of all days...Armie really needs his friend.  
  
Because today has been hard. And yeah, it’s _always_ hard. It’s always hard coming home. Always difficult to smile and laugh the entire night, to keep sparing glances over at his dad’s quiet, confused expression. To keep trying to get him talking, remembering. Even if it’s only for a few seconds. Even if it’s only for a few sentences. But for some reason, it had been extra hard when his mom hugged him goodnight today. When his mom had kissed Armie’s cheek and told him, “Your dad was really happy to see you today. I could tell. He really was.” Because Armie wants to believe her. He really does. Really wants to ignore the sting of his eyes and the ache in his throat. And just. He just really wants to call Nick right now.  
  
Pulls up his phone.  
**  
** **Armie: Man, I’m sorry I’m such a dick.**  
  
Presses send. Doesn’t expect a response. Knows Nick probably won’t want to talk tonight. Doesn't blame him because Armie wouldn’t either, if he was him.  
  
But despite that, Armie’s chest still feels heavy. Still feels tight because he can hear his mom talking quietly downstairs. Can hear her hushed voice carrying up to his room as she speaks to his dad, as she just talks about the day. Talks about what they did, who they saw. Talks with him just like she always does every night, always filling him in on the world, the pieces that he had missed even if he couldn’t understand. Even if it didn’t quite help.  
  
Armie swallows. Thumbs through his contact list. And doesn't even pretend to not know who he’s looking for. Just brings his phone to his ear and stares up at the ceiling as he listens to it rings.  
  
“Armie?” Tim’s voice is low, sleepy when he picks up. It’s only then that Armie realizes the time, that it’s actually kind of late.  
  
“Hey,” Armie breathes. “Hey, sorry. Were you asleep?” Glances at his clock cause it’s 11:30pm. Maybe should have thought about that before dialling.  
  
“Uh, no,” Timmy replies, laughs. But Armie hears the kid stifle a yawn. “Well like, I guess I fell asleep on the couch? Too much turkey I guess.” And Armie can’t help but chuckle, feels his mouth curve up. Doesn’t bother worrying about why.  
  
“Yeah, maybe,” Armie replies. “But uh, if you need to get to bed. I’ll just talk to you later--”  
  
“No,” Timmy says quickly. “Uh, no. I wanna talk to you. ” Armie’s chest flips. Shit. “Let me just head to my room.” And Armie rolls over onto his front then, buries the side of his face into his pillow and holds the phone to his one exposed ear. Listens to the boy’s footsteps as he makes his way across the floor and up the stairs. Can hear the sound of the boy’s bed creak as he climbs on top of it. Then says, “Is something up? You okay?”  
  
“Yeah. Just like…” Armie trails off. Briefly wonders if it’s weird how easily Timmy has him talking this way. Wonders why it feels so natural. “Just family shit. You know. But it’s cool.” Timmy’s quiet for a few seconds.  
  
“You want to talk about it?” The boy asks then and he sounds concerned. Armie can pretty much picture his face. Can picture his cute brows pulled together, the way he's probably biting at that little mouth of his.  
  
“Nah,” Armie breathes out. Because he doesn’t, not really. Is already starting to feel better just from hearing the kid’s voice. And like, that’s a little weird, a little strange. Licks at his lips and just says,“Hey. Go on facetime. Show me your room.”  
  
“Huh?” Timmy questions. Lets out a breathy laugh. “Um, why?” Armie just shrugs and pushes his free hand under the pillow, feels the coolness there.  
  
“Cause I wanna see how much of a nerd you were back in High School, _that's why,”_ Armie teases. Smirks and rolls over onto his back. Doesn’t even hesitate to press the face-time button and only has to wait a few seconds before Timmy’s answering, before there's a mess of curls and a toothy grin eventually coming into view on his screen. The light of Timmy’s lamp is trickling across the boy’s face, highlighting the top of his nose and cheeks, showing off the few freckles there. Armie swallows. Takes it in. Then smiles back.  
  
“Hey,” Timmy says shyly. Laughs.  
  
“Hey,” Armie responds. Waits a beat. Lets his eyes trace the boy's pretty face. “Your hair is even _messier_ than it was this morning. This your new look?” Likes the way the boy’s cheeks immediately dust pink at his words, like the way that Timmy quickly moves his hand to pat them down.  
  
“Ugh, yeah,” Timmy replies, sounding embarrassed. “I guess it's cause I just woke--”  
  
“I already told you. It’s cute. I like it,” Armie tells him, cutting him off. And the way that the boy seems to blush even more, the way that he looks away sheepishly makes Armie grins. Shit. _This kid, _man_._ _  
_  
“Uh, right. Thanks,” Tim replies and then he’s flipping his phone around. Seems desperate to change the topic, to get the attention off of his appearance at this very instant. And then he's laughing softly as he mutters, “Well, this is it. My room. In all its glory.”  
  
And Armie is met with the sight of a pretty basic, average teenage bedroom. Sees that it's blue and that there’s a few band posters tacked up on the left wall. Sees that there are a few medals and awards lining the bookshelf on the right side. But nothing too out of the ordinary. Nothing that Armie really feels the need to poke any fun at. But then, wait --  
  
“Is that a fucking _fish?_” Armie asks, can’t help the loud laugh that escapes his lips, genuinely surprised. Timmy quickly turns the camera back to face him then, large smile painting his face.  
  
“Yeah, that’s blueberry,” He says proudly, sticks up his chin. “And he’s fucking _cute_. Don’t be a dick.” Armie just laughs again, brings a hand to his chin. Feels his eyes crinkle.  
  
“Okay, so tell me. How long have you had _blueberry?_” Lifts his brow, smirks at the younger boy and watches as Tim bites at his lower lip.   
  
“Uh, actually,” He says then, tone shifting slightly from the current playful demeanour. “It was my ex boyfriend’s. But somehow he ended up being mine?”  
  
“Ahh, okay,” Armie responds, totally ignores the weird jolt of jealousy he feels at the term _ex boyfriend_. Because, uh, what the hell is that about? Instead just jokingly says, “So you ended up with the fish in the divorce, huh?? Good win.” Listens as Timmy giggles, watches as he nods.  
  
“Yeah, guess so.” And it’s silent for a few seconds. The two of them just kind of looking at each other.  
  
But Armie can’t help it. Wants to know.  
  
“So like, what’s the deal with that anyway,” Armie questions. Begins to sit up so that he’s resting against the headboard now instead. Makes himself comfortable. “What’s with the _no football players_ thing?” And Timmy just brings a hand up to his hair, twists one of the curls near the base of his neck round his finger absently.  
  
“Uh, not much," He says. Moving his hand from his curls to now rub at the side of his jaw. Seems a little nervous. "He was just an ass, really.” But the way he says it, words slightly hesitant, makes it pretty obvious that it's far from the actual truth. That there's more to the story. And Armie can't help but push.   
  
“What, did he_ break your heart_ or something?” Armie teases, quirking his brow in question. Lets out a chuckle because it's supposed to be a joke but when Tim’s face kind of falls, when the younger boy doesn't laugh in return and simply clears his throat, Armie immediately regrets it. Immediately feels like a dick.  
  
(Great fucking track record he has going today, eh)   
  
“Uh well," Timmy mutters. "I guess like, kind of? Like, he ended up cheating on me. But it's whatever,” Timmy tells him, waving his free hand around casually. And he shrugs as he says so, lets out a chuckle that definitely doesn't meet his eyes.  
  
And fuck. Yeah, okay.  
  
Armie definitely feels like a dick. Feels like a fucking idiot, actually. Feels so, so stupid because Timmy is a nice kid. Timmy is the type of kid who does boyfriends. The type of kid who doesn't sleep around, who definitely _would_ have been in a serious enough relationship to end up in heartbreak. The type of kid that told Armie weeks ago that he doesn't...do...well, whatever they just did last night. And now here Armie is, over here with a stupid smirk on his face and teasing him about his past relationship like it's all a joke. Here he is calling Timmy up late at night on fucking _Thanksgiving_ after kissing him goodbye this morning.  
  
After kissing him goodbye more than once.  
  
And like...Timmy is a _boyfriends_ kind of guy. Timmy does _relationships._  
  
Shit.  
  
Armie falters. Feels stuck.   
  
And when he finally finds his voice, when he finally manages to respond he just says, “Sounds like an asshole." Offers Timmy an apologetic smile. Timmy just shrugs.  
  
Then Armie looks down, casually glances away from the screen as he pretends to move something on the bed beside him. “That’s why I don’t deal with relationships. All that kind of shit. It’s just not worth it," but the words feel kind of foreign. Different. Waits for the boy's response. It's quiet.  
  
And when Armie finally looks back up, when he glances back at the screen he sees that Timmy’s face is blank. Unreadable. But then he’s nodding, running a hand through his curls.  
  
“Yeah,” Timmy replies, small smile on his face now. Laughs. But it sounds off and Armie tries not to read into why. “Yeah, don't worry I remember.”   
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> silly babiessss <3
> 
> OH PS. I finally got a tumblr. Follow me because i'm lonely. Sunsetandvineyards.


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